


Last Chance

by ihavetodothis



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Another Universe Reset, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Drug Use, F/F, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, miki/miki is a side pairing, this is mainly ryokira
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-29
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2020-05-30 20:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 25,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19410595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihavetodothis/pseuds/ihavetodothis
Summary: For centuries, the war between demon and humankind has proven to be Lucifer's ultimate punishment, yet God has grown tired of seeing the same outcome unfold. This time, when he resets humanity, he leaves a few choice things intact, including Ryou's memories.





	1. Reset

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! I'm currently working on two JJBA fics besides this, so I hope to update soon, but I want to see if people like this first! :)
> 
> I might take a while to finish each chapter because writing is hard, so please feel free to bug me on Tumblr (@purelovejosuke)!! Ask me questions about the fic/Devilman in general/whatever!!
> 
> Anyway, if you want to listen to the playlist I use for inspiration for this fic, here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zp2e7LIgkoI&list=PLDP6_aq04PV_rLqt-WsikYfYXfbDReR43
> 
> Foreign words used in this chapter:
> 
> Okaa-san: Mother
> 
> Tadaima: I'm home
> 
> Okaeri: Welcome home
> 
> Wakame: Seaweed salad

Left in the wake of many existences worth of tears, the skin on Ryou’s face stings and cracks. He looks out at a lake of endless magma, surrounding him as the small and somewhat charming city of Tsuchiura did before.

He remembers the tall, outstretched limbs of white pine trees and people buzzing about Kijo Park, filling the air with mindless chatter, innately desperate for connection. It’s never made any sense. Why talk unless there’s something important to be said? Why waste time developing bonds that are bound to be fruitless?

Every year on Earth that led up to him meeting Akira had been as meaningless and dull as every second in Heaven. The blink of an eye could have easily been a hundred years; after millenia with God’s grace and millenia without it, time had no value.

But in Akira’s company, even lying on the ground and counting the stars was a moment in which he savored every breath. There was something about the way Akira would talk about otherwise insipid things like a TV show he was watching, or the time he took a train to Tokyo with some friends for his birthday, or a new toy his parents had bought him, that was so captivatingly raw, as if the letters of each word that rolled off his tongue were willingly carved out of his heart and bestowed upon Ryou as a gift.

Even then, Ryou didn’t understand what was happening. Afterall, how well could one understand a feeling if he never knew he had the ability to feel it?

Ryou wonders if what he’s feeling can even be described by the word, “love”. When asked, Akira once told him he thought love was something universally sought after — something warm and exciting beyond any other emotion. Not this intrinsic ache, as if every atom in his physical form were on fire, burning away like billions of microscopic candle wicks.

That’s exactly how it feels as he realizes his quivering hands are still grasping the cold flesh of a body that isn’t his.

The most recurring thought in Ryou’s brain up until this point was, if love doesn’t exist, then his actions and decisions could have no worthwhile effect on anything or anyone around him.

Yet, in his arms lies the one thing that could possibly make him this weak: the one thing that could make him regret everything.

_ “You’re crying, too.” _

Akira’s voice echoes in his mind as he continues to shed every tear he’s ever held back.

His grip on Akira’s corpse loosens at the height of his stupor and he feels himself start to fade from consciousness, a concept with which he is thoroughly unfamiliar. 

_ “You’re crying, too.” _

His eyelids droop, eager to stay closed, and eventually he allows them to, his body falling prey to the entirely human convention of sleep.

  
  


When he awakes, his ribs are thumbtacks, heavy and unmoving, sticking him to the corkboard that is Earth. His eyelids open and close at a languid pace -- everything seems negligible but this dark mass of emotion pinning him to the ground.

Once he finally gains the motivation to look around, he’s shocked to see that his arms are tiny and frail, like a human child’s. He’s lying back on a bed of tall, green grass warmed by the sun’s early morning rays, looking up at the sky and seeing cotton-ball clouds drift like jellyfish in a vast sea.

From the grass, to the sky, to the towering lighthouse peeking just above the downward slope of a nearby hilltop, this place is all too familiar.

Momentarily jilted out of his melancholy, Ryou is on his feet. The lighthouse is a bit clearer now and just past it, he spots the edge of a cliff, presumably only decades from eroding away into the ocean below.

_ What is this? _ Ryou wonders, the taste of grief still fresh on his tongue.  _ Some sort of divine punishment? _

Before he has time to consider what’s happened, he hears a giggle from behind him and turns to see a little boy chasing a butterfly. The butterfly, with its simple judgement, decides to land on Ryou’s arm, and the giggling stops. A boy with short, black hair and kind eyes stands in front of Ryou, his mouth agape. Ryou raises his hand, out of instinct, to squash the butterfly.

“ _ No! _ ” the boy shouts, suddenly crying, and Ryou’s hand falters, sparing the insect.

After a second or two, it decides to fly off and the boy takes the time to wipe his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

There it is. That sinking feeling, like Ryou’s heart is a weight tethered to his soul, dragging him down...

“Why would you kill it? It’s a butterfly. It wasn’t going to hurt you.”

“It was an annoyance. It was —”

_ In the way. _

“How could you be annoyed by a butterfly? That doesn’t make any sense.”

_ I’ve been brought to the beginning. How? Why? _

“It was a mistake.”

His voice almost cracks. He wants to say a million things, but they’re left gnawing away at the back of his throat.

Akira nods, still sniffling.

“Are you lost? Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have any.”

“You don’t have a family?” Akira says with a gasp and Ryou shakes his head. “Are you hungry?”

_ No. _

“Yes.”

_ Take me willingly into your life again, Akira. Let me in with open arms like you always did. _

“Well, my family has lots of food. You should come eat with us.”

Ryou nods and accepts Akira’s extended hand, the pulse held in his palm throbbing an unspoken hymn of guilt and longing.

Akira leads him down the hillside, Ryou’s hand clasped in his the entire way.

It’s exactly how Ryou remembers it, from all those years ago: the cozy, mahogany house with the red roof and the rack of colorful canoes out front. He still can’t bring himself to smile, thinking somehow this is all an augmented reality, some escape he’s made up in his mind.

“What’s your name? I’m Akira.”

The very sound of him confirming his name sends waves up Ryou’s spine.

“It’s Ryou.”

“Ryou-san? That’s a cool name. What does it mean?”

“The kanji is derived from ancient Cantonese and is also used in several different languages and dialects across China including modern Mandarin, so it has several meanings. But, the most universally-recognized meaning is, ‘End’.”

“ _ Dia...re-ku-to _ ? Wow. So, it’s a Chinese name?”

“Most Japanese names spelled with kanji characters are borrowed from Cantonese. But, it’s a Japanese name.”

“You must be really smart to know all that.” They step out of their shoes and head into the house, Ryou clinging to Akira’s side, scared to let him go. “ _ Okaa-san! Tadaima! _ Where are you,  _ Okaa-san? _ ”

“Akira-kun!  _ Okaeri! _ And...oh? Did you make a friend?” Akira’s mother says as she walks toward them from the kitchen.

Mrs. Fudou is the same skinny, frail woman she always was, with smooth, black hair twisted up into a tight bun and a pair of rectangular glasses that seem to make her look a decade older than she is.

“This is Ryou-san. He says he doesn’t have any parents. I told him he could eat here.”

Her eyes widen, but she tries to hide her shock with a nervous giggle as she sits on her knees to be at eye level with Ryou.

“Oh! I see. Are you hungry, Ryou-chan?” Ryou nods his head and Akira’s mother studies him worriedly. “Well, then. Let’s get you some dinner and a hot bath. How does that sound?”

She reaches her hand out to touch Ryou’s shoulder and he reflexively squirms out of reach. It’s not that he fears being touched. He just prefers not to be, especially when he hasn’t shown his explicit consent.

“Ah. Okay. Akira-kun, will you set the table for four, please?”

Akira nods excitedly and wrenches his hand away from Ryou’s to go set the table. Staring at him in awe, Ryou waits patiently for the table to be set before sitting down next to Akira.

“Can I have some juice, please?” Akira asks and his mother smiles.

“Does Ryou-chan want juice, too?”

It takes much longer than normal for Ryou to respond. He’s watching Mrs. Fudou in a cold and calculating way, wondering why this imaginary scenario hasn’t ended yet — why Akira and his mother still exist in front of him, asking him if he wants  _ juice _ , as if the world hasn’t been devoured by a war that lasted 20 years, as if Akira isn’t still dead in his arms.

He shakes his head, “no” and Mrs. Fudou disappears into the kitchen.

“Akira-kun!  _ Okaeri! _ And who’s this?” Mr. Fudou, a short, darker-skinned man with hair identical to Akira’s, walks into the room and sits across from Akira with a pleasant smile.

“This is Ryou-san. I found him by the lighthouse and brought him home to eat with us.”

His parents catch each other’s eyes and share a look of discernment.

“We’re glad you found him. Ryou-chan, we’re happy to have you. Please stay as long as you’d like. Akira-kun, there’s a futon in the living room closet. He can sleep on that for now,” explains Mrs. Fudou with a warm, inviting smile.

“And you can wear my clothes, too! I bet we’re the same size. But you can’t wear the Devilman shirt. That’s my favorite,” Akira reasons excitedly.

Still perplexed by everything that’s happened, Ryou remains reserved, only nodding in response and looking at the table.

For dinner, Mrs. Fudou brings out a heaping plate of yams and  _ wakame,  _ an odd combination, but Ryou’s never had a firm opinion on human food, anyway. So, he eats enough to stay under the radar, as he’s grown accustomed to doing, sneaking glances at Akira every chance he gets. Akira just keeps smiling back, forever unabashedly kind.

“It’s just about bedtime, don’t you think?” says Mrs. Fudou and Akira yawns, nodding his assent and pushing his plate away from him. “Why don’t you show Ryou-chan to your room? I’ll bring the futon and some sheets.”

“Over here, Ryou-san! It’s the third door on the left!” he exclaims, grabbing Ryou’s hand and running off down the hall. “You can stay here with me. It’s nice and warm and there’s lots of books. You can read whatever you want. I don’t mind.”

Ryou swallows, remembering the last time he was here, late nights shining flashlights on the ceiling and mimicking animals with their hands, reading manga under the blankets past bedtime, making forts, telling stupid jokes…

What a fool he’s been.

He let his lust for the omnipotent glory of blood and war make him forget how he felt when he was with Akira.

And now he’s too late.

“Should I turn off the light?” asks Akira once his bed has been made and he’s been engulfed up to his chin by a fluffy, white comforter.

“If you’d like.”

But something in him wants to stay in this moment, to keep the lights on and hide away from reality for as long as possible. Because he knows that when he closes his eyes again, he’ll wake up on the same shore of blazing inferno, with everything lost and nothing gained.

“Goodnight, Ryou-san.”

“Goodnight...Akira.”

\---

After a few months of joy — chasing frogs in the backyard, skipping pebbles over lakes, and rolling down grassy hills — the Fudous announce their departure. Akira has always been pretty vocal about his parents working abroad for several months at a time, but Ryou didn’t expect all the upheaval that would come with it. They had explained, quite delicately, that their old friends, the Makimuras, have a home in Shinagawa that they’re willing to share with the two boys, as they have a daughter of their own who’s around the same age.

Devoid of any strong attachment to Akira’s parents, Ryou isn’t concerned about this. He’s just eager to follow Akira.

They arrive at a house much larger than the Fudous’: three stories of sleek, modern windows from floor to ceiling, illuminating each room with a blinding amount of natural light.

A woman, man, and little girl, undoubtedly the Makimuras, are waving to them from the front steps and Akira’s mom waves back, beaming.

“Kaori-chan! So nice to see you again!” Mrs. Makimura greets, her voice sweet and thin, like melted honey. “My goodness, Akira-kun! You’ve gotten so big! And you must be Ryou-chan.”

Akira takes hold of Ryou’s arm shyly as Mrs. Fudou kneels to address them both.

“Ryou-chan, these are the Makimuras. They’ll be taking care of you and Akira while we’re overseas.”

“Nice to meet you, Makimura-san,” Ryou says with a formal bow.

“He’s very polite!” Mr. Makimura says excitedly.

Mrs. Fudou stands, kisses each of them on the forehead, ruffles Akira’s hair for good measure, and then turns to leave.

“Take care, you two. We’ll be back soon,” she says.

Ryou studies the Makimuras, particularly the little girl clinging to her mother’s leg, just as Akira is clinging to Ryou. She’s undoubtedly the same girl as the one he tried to kill back in Koji Nagasaki’s studio, the cause of one of his and Akira’s first major arguments…

“Well, come on in, boys. Don’t forget to take your shoes off at the door. Miki-chan will show you to your room.”

After a tiny and hurried bow, Miki stays silent and hurries off through the front door, waiting for them at the bottom of the staircase.

“Hi, Akira-kun,” she says just above a whisper, still sheepish.

“Hi, Miki-chan. This is my friend, Ryou,” responds Akira after he takes off his shoes, and Ryou bows again. Miki cocks her head to the side, a little taken aback by the lack of formality in Akira’s introduction.

“Hi, Ryou-san,” she greets with a forgiving smile. “The room is upstairs, right across from mine. You can take your bags up there if you want.”

They nod and follow her up the stairs and down the hall, to a big room with more tall windows. On the floor are two ash-white futons with green comforters, laid out neatly for them.

“There’s not a lot in here. We don’t usually have guests over this long, but you know that.”

“It’s okay. I like it!” Akira exclaims. “Thank you.”

Halfway through unpacking their bags, the same thought that he’s been obsessing over since he was reunited with Akira pops into his mind.

_ What am I doing? _

He’s spent months with no real agenda, just leisurely enjoying his time with Akira. No one has tried to contact him. He hasn’t spotted a single demon, nor anything at all alarming, for that matter.

Everything has been...peaceful. And he can’t stand it. It’s so infuriating that he’s content to spend time doing nothing with Akira, playing at being human when his true form lurks just underneath this practically foreign flesh he’s sporting. But, he also can’t deny that he  _ is  _ content — at least, he doesn’t have any real urge to pursue anything else. When he’s with Akira, he feels that somehow it’s exactly where he’s supposed to be, but in his experience, emotions seem to do almost nothing but cloud one’s judgement.

Perhaps all the demons were wiped out during the final battle, or God himself destroyed them when he recreated Earth. _ If _ he recreated Earth.

That might explain why Jenny is nowhere to be found, and not a single other demon, either. Ryou still has no idea what’s happened or why...and he’s not sure how to go about investigating. It also feels incredibly demeaning to keep assuming this child’s form; there seems to be a huge disconnect between himself and this Ryou Asuka character who allows himself to be ruled over by strangers.

But, Ryou Asuka is the man who gained Akira’s trust and friendship. And Satan is the one who corrupted him against his will, who ultimately sacrificed him for a pointless genocide. All to protect Akira, of course, but...Ryou Asuka, it seems, is a better choice while he tries to figure things out. For now.

“You’ll like the Makimuras. They’re really nice. And Mrs. Makimura makes really yummy  _ tamago _ ,” Akira explains, pulling the last shirt out of his bag and folding it neatly onto a shelf in the closet.

“I look forward to it,” Ryou deadpans, ever a chronically cold hull of a being.

With a sigh, Akira lies on his back on one of the futons and looks up at the ceiling.

“I wish Mom and Dad didn’t go away all the time. I like it here, but...I always miss them. A lot.”

“Hm.”

“Do you ever miss your parents, Ryou-chan?”

“I don’t have any.”

“You keep saying that, but... _ everyone _ has parents.”

After a brief, contemplative pause, Ryou decides he can play along a bit.

“I...have a father. But, he hates me.”

Akira sits up and looks right at Ryou, eyes blazing with intrigue.

“Did you run away?”

“He threw me out.”

“But, how can he throw you out?” sniffles Akira, tears welling up in his eyes. “You’re just a kid!”

“I told you, he hates me.”

Before he can take another breath, Akira pulls him close and holds him as if he’s a piece of driftwood and they’re both lost at sea.

“Well, it’s okay, now. As long as you’re here with me, I’ll take care of you, Ryou-chan. I won’t leave you.”

_ But, you did. _

Akira’s tears continue to soak into Ryou’s shirt and he reflexively hugs him back, a strange and awful feeling growing like vines, outward from his chest and into his throat, threatening to strangle him.

He wants to fight it, push him away and scrub the bitterness of all this  _ feeling _ off his tongue, but he can’t, because within seconds, his fear dissipates and is replaced by an all-encompassing warmth that he knows can only come from Akira.

He forgets about his indolence and just leans into the embrace, as if Akira is a plan in himself — a goal worthy even of the omniscient Satan: a goal with sparkling, golden eyes and a brilliant smile.

\---

By the time they’re both about 13 years old, Ryou has become quite good at taking advantage of Akira’s parents’ complete and utter moral and physical absence.

There are many things in which Ryou has discovered desirable opportunities in the interest of his own pleasure, especially under the fugue of boredom that comes with being a human teenager.

Tonight, after an online article or two about lockpicking, he’s managed to get into the Fudous’ luxurious-looking liquor cabinet, and the promise of pleasure stands before him, gleaming under the dimmed kitchen lights: various glass bottles of sake, whiskey, vodka, and even absinthe. He reaches for the absinthe immediately. It’s a huge, green-tinted, expensive-looking bottle with an alcohol content of 70%; with a quick and practiced twist of his fingers, he pops the top off and starts to down as much as he can.

“Ryou?” Akira, who’s been holed up in his room all day studying for a test, comes into the kitchen at just the right moment and stares at Ryou, perplexed. “Is that...alcohol?”

“Absinthe.”

“Did you just break into my parents’ liquor cabinet?”

“Yeah. Want some?”

“Uh...no, thanks. You should probably lock that up before Mom sees.”

“You’re joking, right? Your parents might as well not be here for all they see,” Ryou responds, laughing cruelly. Akira just frowns back at him. “Are you done studying?”

“Almost. I was gonna go over everything a couple more times.”

Rolling his eyes, Ryou leans back, one elbow perched on the counter behind him.

“You’ve been going over this stuff all week. It’s pre-algebra, not rocket science.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You hardly ever study and you get perfect scores, every time.”

“And when have you gotten a less than perfect score?”

“There was that one time, in Yuuko-sensei’s class. The question about arachnids.”

“So, you got a single question wrong in the fifth grade. Time to quit school and work at  _ Maku-do. _ ”

“Hilarious.”

When Ryou offers the bottle to Akira again, Akira waves it away and goes about getting his tea.

“Suit yourself,” Ryou says, shrugging and downing the last of the bottle before putting it back on the shelf and locking up the cabinet. “Let’s watch something.”

“I have to study.”

Before Akira can get to the stairs, Ryou puts a hand on his shoulder and he turns around to face him again.

“ _ Lupin _ ?”

“You want to watch  _ Lupin _ ? Again? We’ve seen it a billion times.”

“ _ Ashita no Joe? _ ”

“We’ve seen that too.”

“You’re making this difficult.”

“Making what difficult?”

“I…” Ryou trails off, his throat constricted. “Forget it.”

“I wish you’d just tell me what you want. I’m not good at guessing.”

Now irritable and waiting for the alcohol to do its job, Ryou makes a beeline for the couch and turns on the TV.

Akira watches him flip through channels for a few minutes before sitting next to him. There’s something akin to emotion radiating from Ryou, something immeasurably deep and disturbingly palpable, but Akira can’t pinpoint it. He never can.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry,” Akira says, still flipping through channels.

“Because I don’t.”

“I don’t believe you.” Ryou shifts around in his seat, eagerly waiting for the absinthe to do its job. “I’m just saying...I wonder where all your tears go. When you’re sad.”

“They don’t go anywhere because there aren’t any. Crying is a useless form of communication unless you’re an infant. Words are much more effective.”

Finally, something starts to loosen his muscles and Ryou slouches, sinking into the couch as if he’s just stepped into a hot bath. Only seconds later, he feels arms around him and there’s a tuft of spiky, black hair poking at his nose. 

Akira’s hair is moist and smells like green apples; he must have showered just before he came downstairs. Ryou takes a quiet, deep breath in, reveling in Akira’s embrace: all warm skin and soft cotton. They sit there for a while, and Ryou almost thinks he should feel embarrassed, although he’s not sure why. His chest feels strange — there’s something echoing under his ribs so loudly, he’s afraid Akira might hear.

“Akira.”

“Hm?”

“I’m getting out of here. As soon as we start high school, I’m leaving. I’m getting my own place.”

“How? With what money?”

“You underestimate me.”

“No, I — That’s not what I meant. It’s just that it seems...I don’t know.”

“Come with me.”

Akira pulls back from Ryou and looks at the TV; There’s some weird game show playing, where people are trying to fit as many licorice sticks into their mouths as possible.

“Come with you? What do you mean? Like...when you get a place?”

“Yes.”

“You...want me to move in with you?”

“That’s what I said.”

Smiling, Akira slouches, too, and continues to watch the game show. Now, the players are spewing licorice all over the ground and laughing.

“Huh. I guess it would be pretty neat not to have a curfew...But, how am I supposed to buy food and stuff? I don’t have a job.”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Akira laughs half-heartedly, trying to take it all in.

“What, you’ll take care of me? Like my mom?”

“I’m being serious.”

“Hm.”

There’s a long, drawn out silence. The dull glare of the TV spills over Akira’s cheeks as excited game show contestants murmur and scream behind Ryou’s rapid thoughts.

“There’s no reason not to.”

After a sigh, Akira changes the channel and leans his head back.

“You’re right. I can’t think of one, but it just seems...I don’t know.”

There’s a young couple on the screen, sitting on a boat with the sun setting behind them. They’re inching closer and closer toward each other, and the moment they start kissing, Akira changes the channel, his face heating up as he flushes pink up to his ears.

“You don’t like  _ Hanamizuki _ ?”

“What? Of course not. That’s a movie for girls.”

“That’s ridiculous. Sex shouldn’t have an influence on what movies you’re allowed to watch.”

“It doesn’t. It’s just...girls like to watch that stuff. It’s embarrassing if you’re a guy.”

“Why do you care what others think of you?”

“I...don’t, really.”

“Now you’re the one lying.”

Akira giggles and scratches the back of his head, shifting his weight uncomfortably before deciding just to sit on his idle hands.

“Hah...you’re right. I guess I just...want people to like me.”

“Who doesn’t like you?”

“Nobody.”

“More lies. Who is it? Give me names.”

“It’s not important, really! People are allowed not to like me…”

“Is it those guys from math class again? If they try anything, I’ll rip—”

“—I don’t think that’s necessary!—”

“— _ through their mouth. _ ”

Ryou’s eyes are huge and wild with a fervent, sadistic glee: Akira can only imagine the vision playing within his irises. It makes him shiver.

“Sheesh, Ryou. It’s really no big deal.”

“Anyone who hurts you should be punished.”

A small, uncomfortable grimace tugs at Akira’s mouth as he continues to flip through channels. At this point, it’s surprising that there are still channels left.

“People who hurt people don’t need to be punished. They need help. They’re usually being hurt themselves.”

“Why do humans perpetuate trauma? Why don’t they learn from their mistakes?”

Once he gets through the last of the channels and still doesn’t find anything, Akira turns off the TV, stands up, and shrugs his shoulders.

“I don’t know. Maybe because they’re too afraid to change.”

Ryou frowns, his nerves embracing the intense, palliative flutter of intoxication as it seeps out from his spine, through his arms, and out to his fingertips.

“Are you going to sleep?”

“I guess so. There’s nothing good on.”

“Of course there isn’t. That’s why we have Netflix.”

“Yeah, I don’t know...I’m pretty tired.”

“Think about what I said. The school year’s almost over.”

“I will. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Akira.”

With the TV off, the methodic chime of the hallway clock echoes against the walls like a ticking bomb. Ryou lies sideways on the couch and pulls his knees up to his chin, staring out at the empty living room, contenting in the loneliness of it.

\---

Four years later, Akira hears a knock on his window at two in the morning and jumps out of bed, his heart pounding. His first thought is that someone is trying to break in, but when he looks up to see a familiar head of immaculate, pale blond hair, he audibly exhales.

“Ryou! You almost gave me a heart attack,” Akira whispers, pulling the window open.

Ryou opens his arms and he falls into them, his chin tucked away in Ryou’s shoulder until he finally pulls back. He’s always the one to pull out of their embraces — Ryou, even after all these years, is terrified of letting him go.

“Did I wake you up?” asks Ryou and Akira yawns.

“Uh, yeah. It’s two in the morning. Is something wrong?”

Ryou smirks.

“I wanted to show you something.”

“Can it wait until tomorrow? I—we have school in the morning…”

“Who cares about school? Skip it with me. Spend the night.”

“At your new place? I-I don’t know...I’d have to ask Makimura-san…”

“Why? She’s not your mother.”

“But—she cares about me. She’d worry. And Miki-chan…”

“Leave a note.”

“Ryou, I really can’t—”

Ryou grabs Akira’s wrist and grins from ear to ear.

“Do you trust me?”

After a few seconds of studying Ryou’s face, concern reflected in his dilated pupils, Akira swallows and nods.

“I trust you.”

“Then, let’s go,” Ryou says, hopping off the window sill and landing in a bush below.

“No way! I’m not doing that!”

“You’ll be fine. I’ll catch you.”

“But you’ll get hurt!”

“It’ll be fine. Okay, jump on 3. 1—”

“—Ryou, I don’t think—”

“—2—”

“—not a good idea—”

“—3! Come on, jump!”

Akira swallows, taking one last look at the ground before taking a leap forward and landing square on Ryou. 

“Ow, fuck! Jesus, you’re like a skeleton!”

Rubbing his elbows, he rolls off Ryou and the two stand up to brush themselves off.

“All right, let’s go,” Ryou says, taking off running down the street.

“Ryou—wait!”

He has no time to collect himself before he’s chasing after Ryou. They run three whole blocks before they come to the dimly-lit parking lot of a 7-11 and stop, both of them with their hands on their knees, gasping for air.

There’s nobody around for miles — just the faint hue of neon signs illuminating the sky.

“Pick a car,” Ryou says after he’s caught his breath, gesturing to the parking lot. He’s still wearing the absurdly long and bulky white coat that he always wears, but Akira’s gotten used to it by now.

“Why? What?”

“Pick. A. Car.”

Blinking back at Ryou, Akira searches the parking lot for a car that catches his eye. When he spots a bright orange sudan, he shrugs and points to it.

“That one?”

Ryou gives him a hum of approval, then starts walking over to it. 

“Good choice. This one probably doesn’t have an alarm,” he comments and from under his coat, he pulls out a crowbar. His face contorted in his efforts, he tries his best to pry the door of the car open.

“What are you doing? That’s someone’s car!”

“They obviously don’t care about it if they left it out here.”

Eventually, he manages to get the door open, so he crouches under the steering wheel and gets to work on the wiring.

“This is bad, Ryou. You shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Relax. Here.”

Ryou pulls out a small bottle of something obviously alcoholic and shoves it into Akira’s hand.

“R-Ryou-chan! What’s going on with you?”

“You need to relax.”

“What even is this?”

“Try it and see.”

“I don’t know...I’ve never—”

Akira’s voice trails off as Ryou takes the bottle, slowly and gently placing the mouth of it on his bottom lip.

“Last chance to say no,” he says, but Akira lets him pour the entirety of the bottle’s contents into his mouth.

It burns, almost like swallowing boiling water, and he can feel it crawl all the way down his esophagus.

“Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

“The point isn’t for it to taste good.” 

Akira makes a face as Ryou manages to find the right wires and starts the car.

“Get in,” he commands effortlessly and Akira obeys, slipping into the driver’s side and making sure to put his seat belt on.

Ryou reverses without warning and the sound of tires screeching echoes in Akira’s ears. Laughing like a maniac, he puts the car back into drive and steps on the gas, plowing into another car in the lot.

“Shit, Ryou! What the  _ fuck _ !”

“Well, maybe people shouldn’t—” he reverses again, then rams another car. “—be so careless!!!”

After a good 20 minutes of Ryou playing bumper cars, the alcohol starts to kick in and Akira’s vision dulls at the edges, leaving him to sit there in shock, watching it all play out: Ryou’s eyes, unblinking and wild, his laughter almost shaking the car with its intensity, the delicate metal prison that surrounds them becoming more and more battered with every impact.

Even after the airbag had deployed, hitting Ryou square in the face, he’d continued to slam into the other cars.

Finally, the constant clunking of the engine comes to a complete stop. Akira looks around the car, at the edge of puking; the world is spinning way too fast and somehow there’s blood everywhere, all over Ryou’s white jacket and the unfortunately pale-colored airbag and dashboard. Yet, there’s still laughter booming unabatedly from Ryou’s mouth.

“Ryou...chan…” Akira utters, concerned and confused, before he leans out of the now-shattered window and vomits profusely...

...He wakes up the next morning to a room that’s far too bright: white sheets, white furniture, big windows with the sun pouring through them, and Ryou, who’s replaced his typical jacket with a white collared shirt and is busy typing away on his laptop, sitting cross legged next to him on the bed.

“Good morning, Akira,” he says, but doesn’t look up from his laptop.

“Ryou... _ ugh _ ,” Akira mumbles, putting a hand to his forehead as a sharp pain erupts across it. “Where are we?”

“My new place. You were unconscious, so I brought you here.”

“You—we stole a car! Oh, god...Makimura-san doesn’t even know where I am!”

“I’ve already taken care of it.”

“Taken care of it? How?”

“How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”

Akira’s stomach rumbles in response. His whole body aches.

“Agh...yeah, I’m starving.”

“I’ll have Hyunjin-san bring you something to eat.”

“...Hyunjin-san?”

Out of nowhere, a man in very formal robes walks in through a door and bows in front of them.

“Just tell him what you want.”

Akira just stares at Ryou, perplexed.

“Do you have... _ tamago _ ?”

Hyunjin tilts his head, as if he doesn’t understand.

“He only speaks Korean. I’ll translate for you.  _ Akira would like _ tamago _ , prepared in the more traditional way _ ,” Ryou says coolly, still not looking up.

With a nod, Hyunjin then turns to walk back into the kitchen.

“Oh, and some orange juice, please! Thank you, Hyunjin-san!” Akira calls out. Ryou translates and Hyunjin nods again before disappearing. “Wow...where are you getting all this money, Ryou?”

“Odd jobs, here and there. It’s not important.”

“This is amazing.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah. I like it a lot.”

Ryou allows himself a small smile, finally closing his laptop and devoting his attention to Akira.

“I’m glad.”

Akira smiles back, then looks down at the bed for a few seconds and furrows his eyebrows.

“I’m sorry if I took your bed.”

“You didn’t. There’s plenty of room for both of us.”

“Oh...we—oh. Yeah, okay.”

A fierce blush spreads across Akira’s cheeks and Ryou’s heart soars, although he shows nothing on his face.

“You can stay here whenever you’d like. You could even…”

“Yeah?”

“Hm. Nevermind.”

“What? What were you going to say?”

“Forget about it. I’ve asked enough times.”

The silence between them is palpable, but Hyunjin thankfully breaks it by coming back into the room with a small bed table; a plate of fresh, delicious-looking  _ tamago _ ; and a glass of orange juice.

“Wow, thank you! This looks delicious!” Akira exclaims, grabbing the chopsticks Hyunjin set down and immediately digging in.

A phone dings somewhere in the blankets and Ryou pulls it out.

“It’s Miki-san. She’s asking if you’ll be at practice today.”

“Mm.” His mouth full of food, Akira sets down his chopsticks and takes the phone, quickly texting a response. “Are you going to school, Ryou-chan?”

“It’s already noon.”

“Noon?! How did I sleep for so long?”

“You needed to sleep.”

Akira is silent for a moment, his finger hovering just above the “send” button.

“Why do you still call her, ‘san’? After all these years?” Ryou doesn’t respond to this. Instead, he looks out of a nearby window and watches a bird peck at the ground for scraps. “Did you have anything planned today?”

“Yamashita-san invited me to a party.”

“Yamashita-kun...hm. Are you going?”

“I haven’t responded yet.”

Akira finishes the last of his meal and wipes his face.

“You should go. I don’t understand how you keep getting invited to all these events when everyone knows you won’t go.”

“Why would I go? I don’t care about any of these people.”

“What if I go with you?”

Ryou considers this for a few seconds.

“If you’d like.”

“Yamashita-kun’s pretty cute...and her friends are cute, too. They’ll probably all be at the party.”

“Okay.”

Akira presses his lips together. He’s tried to broach this subject with Ryou a million times, but Ryou’s either oblivious or incredibly dense.

“I’m saying...you could, like, talk to them. I think Yamashita-kun likes you.”

“If she didn’t like me, she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to invite me to a party.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Akira elaborates with a chuckle, “I mean she  _ likes _ you. As in she’s  _ interested  _ in you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yamashita-san is a mindless slut with no sense of self-worth. She thinks that by opening her legs to everyone who shows even the slightest interest in her she’ll feel loved and accepted.”

“That’s...harsh,” comments Akira, always caught off guard by Ryou’s incredibly dismal views of others. “What about Nakamura-san?”

“What about her?”

“Do you think she’s cute?”

“I think her parents didn’t spend enough time with her growing up, so she was raised by a nanny who didn’t properly discipline her and now she thinks the world owes her something. She’s an idiot.”

“Uh...okay, then...what about—”

“I’m not interested in women.”

Akira looks away from Ryou, his face hot.

“Oh, uh. Okay. So...you, um...does that mean—”

“I don’t like _ people _ . They’re useless and boring.”

“They’re not useless and boring,” Akira says solemnly, almost on the verge of tears. “You like me.”

Their eyes meet and Akira can see something poignant — maybe just the glint of an overhead light —reflected back at him.

“You’re the best out of all of them, Akira,” Ryou says. He gets out of bed and stands with his back to Akira, looking out again at the bird on the porch. “We’ll go to the party, if it’ll make you happy.”

“You’ll have fun. I promise.”

“Don’t make a promise you can’t keep.”

Ryou turns around and smirks at Akira, who smiles back. Yet, Akira can’t quite shrug the constant feeling that Ryou is hiding something from him. Perhaps everything.


	2. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryou and Akira decide to go to Rei Yamashita's party, but things start to go downhill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm terrible at summaries! I know this chapter is kinda short, but I usually just end where it seems like a good place to end. I've appreciated all your lovely messages on Tumblr! It made me so excited to post this! Hope you enjoy!

Despite a weak attempt at convincing Ryou that he shouldn’t be driving without a license, Akira eventually concedes to ride to the party on the back of Ryou’s new motorcycle. It’s a sleek, black BMW that looks way too expensive. But, he doesn’t ask any questions. He just accepts the helmet Ryou gives him and hops on the seat behind him, snaking his arms around his tiny waist.

“You really should eat more,” Akira suggests, but Ryou drowns him out by revving the engine.

Before long, they arrive at two tall, iron gates that have been left slightly open so that any party-goers can enter. There’s a pristine, cobble-stone driveway leading through a forest of groomed shrubbery and up to Rei Yamashita’s house, which is even more impressive than the Makimuras’: three red buildings scattered around a massive property of lush flower gardens, the main building a towering four stories tall with a pastel green roof.

Instead of parking where everyone else is parked, Ryou drives right up to the front door and leaves the bike on a strip of ground where the grass isn’t growing. They climb off the motorcycle and Akira removes his helmet, revealing an unkempt mess of spiky, black hair. He tries his best to flatten it with his hands, but it only makes it worse.

“Is it bad?” Akira asks.

“Not at all,” Ryou says, his heart beating violently — perhaps just from the adrenaline of the ride over — as he moves to fix a few stray strands. “It suits you.”

“Thanks, Ryou.”

They smile at each other a little too long and when they look away, Ryou notices a group of teenagers watching them from a window. He shoots a menacing glare at them and they immediately run back into the house.

“These clothes are way too big,” Akira says, pulling on the white shirt and pants he had to borrow from Ryou. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look fine. Besides, why do you care?”

“I’ve never actually been to a party before,” he admits, shyly.

“Eat one of these. You’ll have more fun,” Ryou suggests, pulling a small, metal tin from his pocket. He twists off the top and picks out five bright blue, square gummies from inside.

“What’s that?”

“Blue raspberry.”

“Since when do you like candy?” Akira asks, taking the gummies from Ryou and popping them in his mouth, quickly swallowing them. Ryou does the same. “Ugh...why does it taste so  _ weird _ ?”

“It’s probably the cannabis.”

“ _ Cannabis?! _ ”

“Shh! Keep your voice down.”

“Ryou, that’s... _ illegal _ !” Akira whispers, looking around to make sure nobody is listening in.

“So is driving without a license. Akira, laws are made to keep society from falling into chaos, and cannabis is far from chaotic. Medicinal cannabis has been used successfully to treat life-threatening diseases like Multiple Sclerosis, Cancer, and Epilepsy. Yet, the government allows a substance as interpersonally destructive as alcohol to be used recreationally, and marijuana has been criminalized since 1948. 

“Most laws are born out of ignorance. You’re highly intelligent, Akira. You know better than to give in to the whims of society.”

Shoving Ryou feebly, Akira frowns, too upset to give in to another of his grandiloquent, anarchist expositions.

“Ryou, what’s going on with you? First the alcohol, now  _ drugs _ ? And where did you even get that stuff, anyway?” Ryou seems completely unfazed by any of these words. He ignores Akira and grabs four more gummies for himself out of the tin, barely chewing them before swallowing them, as Akira waves his hand in front of his face. “Hey, I’m talking to you! Do what you want to yourself, but you went too far, giving me those things! How was I supposed to know they were — they had —  _ you know _ !”

“ _ Relax _ .”

Cool as ever, Ryou rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around Akira’s waist, leading him up the stairs and toward the party.

As soon as Ryou opens the doors, their conversation is interrupted by a horde of girls screaming and giggling.

“Ryou-kun!!!”

_ “— _ so cool!”

“ _ — _ on a  _ motorcycle _ —”

“—think he’ll talk to me?”

“Ryou-kun!!!”

“ _ — _ totally  _ rich _ —”

“—super smart—”

_ “ _ Ryou-chaaan!”

“—kind of scary _ — _ ”

“—think he’s a foreigner _? _ ”

“Ryou-chan!!!”

Ryou pushes past them and into the fray, leaving them to stumble into each other behind him.

“He actually touched me! Ryou-chan  _ touched _ me!”

“When? How?”

“Just now! He touched my shoulder as he was going past!”

The horde erupts into screams and giggles again, but Ryou and Akira are already halfway across the living room and headed to the kitchen.

“Women are a plague,” Ryou tells Akira through his teeth.

There’s a buffet of alcohol laid out on a marble island -- everything from beer to vodka. Ryou picks out an entire bottle of vodka and downs it as if it’s water and he’s just ran a mile.

“Geez, Ryou…” Akira comments, but Ryou just shrugs and hands him a beer, which he waves away. “No, thanks.”

The pulse of tasteless pop music throbs under the soles of their shoes as they stand there in the kitchen, Ryou leaned against a wall with his arms crossed over his chest and Akira still lingering by the island, twiddling his thumbs at his sides. Ryou picks through the array of booze once again, wondering how much longer he can withstand such unequivocal boredom.

“Is it what you expected?” he asks, hoping that Akira will soon find this all incredibly dull and ask to leave.

“Those girls...they were practically screaming about you. I guess you’re pretty popular, huh?”

Ryou smirks, his lips brushing against the rim of an unlabeled, amber-colored bottle before tilting his head back and draining it in three gulps.

“I guess so.”

“You’re going to kill yourself if you keep drinking like that.”

“Then come drink with me, so I won’t die alone.”

“I’d rather neither of us die at all.”

The image of Akira’s dead body unwillingly fills Ryou’s thoughts and he swallows hard...but the only reaction he gives is a shrug.

“Do you think Amano-san and the rest of them will be here?” Akira asks after a long stretch of silence.

“After what they pulled last week, I hope so. I’d give anything to smash their faces in.”

“Sheesh.”

Last week, a ridiculously close-up picture of Akira crying in a bathroom stall had been sent out to everyone’s phones, as well as posted on Facebook, Snapchat, and Instagram. It was shared by almost everyone in the school, with a caption that read “The Fire Alarm of Kougyokusha High.”

Ryou hadn’t had to dig very hard to find out who had posted the picture, and when he did, he vowed to “teach him a lesson”, a notion with which Akira had firmly disagreed. Now, he’s got an arsenal of useless information on this buffoon, Haru Amano, and his idiot cronies, but nothing to do with it but seeth in anger every time he hears the bastard’s name.

Another smirk plays at his lips as he imagines Amano in a jumbled heap of blood and tangled limbs — a human’s imagination truly is a fascinating gift.

The drab emptiness of the kitchen is relieved when two taller boys walk in, both wearing saggy, black clothes and backwards baseball caps, their features dark and intimidating.

They each nod to Ryou and Ryou nods back, still leaning on the counter.

“Asuka-kun. Nice to see you at a party,” says the one on the left: he’s got a tuft of unkempt, dark brown peeking out from under his cap and startlingly opaque, amber eyes.

“Don’t get used to it,” Ryou responds, thoroughly unamused.

He then nods to Akira, who gives a polite bow.

“I’m Kamigawa.”

“Nice to meet you, Kamigawa-san. Are you a friend of Ryou’s?” Akira asks.

“Sure. You could say that. And you’re his…?”

“—friend,” Ryou and Akira answer at the same time.

“Yeah, I’ve heard a lot about you,” the taller and broader of the two says, with a shit-eating grin. “You make a cute couple.”

“Oh, no, we’re not —” Akira starts, his face heating up.

“Kamigawa-san, Itou-san,” Ryou greets, gesturing to a door near the other side of the kitchen. “Excuse us, Akira.”

They follow Ryou through the door, leaving Akira to hover by the island. He doesn’t recognize the song that’s playing now: something uptempo with heavy bass. The more he feels it reverberate through the walls of the house, the more the beat seems to seep into his skin; his mind gets foggier as the seconds roll by and he checks his phone, thinking it’s been hours, when it’s only been about thirty minutes.

Soon enough, the three of them come out, Ryou in his long, white coat that sometimes makes him look as if he’s gliding across the floor instead of walking, his mouth set in a firm line at the bottom of his sullen face.

Suddenly, Akira bursts out laughing, but tries to hide his teeth with his hand. Ryou looks at him, his face still void of emotion.

“What is it?” he asks.

“You — hah — your face...you just look so... _ mad _ !” Akira says, still laughing.

“I see,” Ryou responds fondly, something warm growing in his chest, threatening to pull a reaction out of him. “Let’s go.”

“What? Why? We just got here!”

“We’ve been here well over an hour.”

“Asuka-sensei, about tomorrow —” Itou starts, but Ryou cuts him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“As I said, you two will no longer be involved. Tsuki-san will have more information for you tomorrow afternoon.”

At this, both Itou and Kamigawa bow deeply before nodding and leaving the kitchen as quickly as possible.

“Who are those guys? They look scary,” Akira says, all too loudly, and Ryou studies him with amusement.

“They work for me.”

“Wow...you have people  _ working  _ for you? That’s great, Ryou!”

“Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s late.”

“But, we haven’t even seen Yamashita-kun yet! We have to say goodbye.”

“Fine.”

Ryou puts an arm around Akira’s shoulders and they step back into the (albeit, relatively small) crowd of giggling, intoxicated teenagers.

The same girls who were screaming before are still huddled in the corner, plastic cups held loosely in their hands. They’re staring at both of them, whispering and smiling. In the center of them is a very tiny girl who steps out to meet them with an elaborate updo of thick, shiny black hair and a face of gaudy, glittery makeup.

“Ryou-kun! I’m so glad you made it. It’ll be hard to get together after this week, with our entrance exams coming up, so I thought it’d be nice to celebrate a little before we can’t anymore.”

Ryou blinks at her, as if he hasn’t heard a word she’s said, so Akira steps in, bowing.

“Thank you for inviting us, Yamashita-kun! You were really sweet — I mean — it was really nice of you to think of us like that.”

“Of course! It was no problem, um…” she responds, trailing off as she searches for a name.

“Akira Fudou. From English class, remember?”

“Oh, Fudou-san! Of course I remember you,” she promises, lying through her teeth. 

Akira’s heart is discernibly fragile when he looks back at her, so Ryou grabs his wrist and pulls him away without a word.

“Hey — Ryou! Bye, Yamashita-kun! Thanks again!”

Yamashita gives a polite wave as Ryou flings the front doors open.

“Bye-bye, Ryou-chaaan!” the girls scream, but Ryou still doesn’t acknowledge them.

“Why’d you pull me away like that? We were having a conversation!”

“We’re leaving. Now.”

“Why? Ryou!”

“These people don’t care about you, Akira.”

“Huh?” 

“They don’t deserve you.”

“What do you mean?” Akira looks up at Ryou with wide eyes as the helmet is placed in his hands. After a moment of silence, he immediately starts to cry, for no apparent reason, the moonlight reflected in his huge, glistening pupils.

Without hesitation, Ryou pulls Akira into a hug, the bulky helmet awkwardly situated between them. He doesn’t know what else to say, so he cups the back of Akira’s head with his hand, his fingers laced in Akira’s soft, black hair.

“I can’t stop crying,” Akira continues, sniffling. “I don’t know why. I’m just... _ really _ sad. I have no idea why.”

“We should go home.”

“Home?” Akira parrots, almost as if he’s asking, “Where’s that?” and Ryou’s stomach lurches when Akira looks up at him, his eyes vulnerable and full of tears. It’s in moments like these when he realizes how small and unguarded Akira’s heart really is, as if Ryou could pluck it out and hold it between two fingers.

“I’m still crying. My face is so wet,” he mumbles and Ryou puts a hand on his back to lead him to the bike, where he places the helmet on Akira’s head gently and fastens the strap under his chin. “I wanna sleep.”

“I’ll take you home.”

“But...I don’t wanna be alone,” Akira chokes out, shaking his head.

“I’ll take you back to my place, then,” Ryou responds quietly as he moves to take a seat on the bike.

Only seconds later, a few boys start to snicker and point from across the driveway.

“—such a crybaby.”

“There goes the fire alarm!”

“—diaper probably needs to be changed!”

Ryou can only make out some of what they’re saying, but it’s enough for him to reach for his knife in rage.

“Ryou, no,” Akira pleads, his hand tight around Ryou’s wrist.

“ _ I’ll kill him _ .”

“You can’t.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“You can’t hurt people. It’s not right.”

“Let go of me.”

“Please, Ryou, don’t!”

“ _ Now _ .”

“No!”

For a second, Ryou considers ignoring Akira and running at them. He can picture it so clearly: streams of warm, fresh blood trickling over his hands as he sinks his fists into Haru Amano’s face as hard as he can. There isn’t much he wouldn’t give to snap a picture of Amano at his feet, pathetically groveling and crying out for mercy...it’d be the perfect revenge. He’d send the picture out to everyone in the school from Akira’s phone and tell them if anyone so much as looks at Akira the wrong way, he’ll kill them. And they’d listen.

Nothing has changed since they were children: no matter how interesting and popular Ryou is, people still fear him above all else.

Yet, Ryou stops. He lets his wrist fall from Akira’s grasp with nothing but a demure snarl. Some particularly nasty sentiments find their way up the dip in Ryou’s tongue and he opens his mouth to speak them, but they dissipate when Akira gives him a small smile, wiping his face with the back of his arm.

“Thank you, Ryou.”

What his demons would say if they saw him now — taking orders from a mortal, exuding an insulting amount of self-control under someone else’s moral obligations, like a dog on a leash. Ryou’s lips are thinly stretched across his face, his teeth biting hard into the inside of his lip.

Fear, Ryou realizes, quickly becomes a side effect of love. Each is an entirely human emotion — emotions in themselves almost  _ exclusively _ corresponding to being a human...but, he finds himself somehow feeling both. As aware as he is of his love for Akira, only recently has he become aware that his love has also welcomed fear: specifically, the all-encompassing fear of losing him. Again.

But, why is he bent on rejecting humanity by putting himself above it? Is that not what God does? His distaste for God and his fleet of mindless, obsequious children, who were punished for the slightest insurgence, was the entire reason he fell to Earth in the first place.

So, humanity is love and fear and everything in between...and Akira has unknowingly drawn these feelings from Ryou — maybe because Akira himself is so incredibly, shamelessly human.

And Ryou is still in love with all of it, absolutely everything about Akira: the way he ties his shoes with two overhand knots instead of a half-hitch and his laces come undone on the track, because his parents failed to teach him properly; the way he gets up and keeps running even after he trips and falls; the way he loves Ryou back fiercely, like no one ever has, as if Ryou is a marathon with no clear finish line, because it doesn’t matter to him that the people on the sidelines are telling him he lost the race as soon as he began.

Bitter, but void of his former rage, Ryou says nothing and throws a leg over his motorcycle, offering a hand to Akira, who secures his helmet before accepting it.

Then Akira is settling behind Ryou, his arms tightly wound around him. Ryou revs the engine a few times before they depart loudly, driving down the cobblestone driveway and through the front gates.

The colorful city lights reflect brightly in the opaque metal of the bike as they drive through the streets, their clothes flapping loosely in the wind. Like treading water in an ice-cold river, they make their way to Ryou’s apartment through the harsh, early-Winter air.

When Akira’s arms start to feel numb, his head falls snugly into the slope of Ryou’s shoulder and without any ulterior motive, under the gaze of nothing but the stars, Ryou smiles.

  
  


Once they’ve arrived at the apartment, Ryou gingerly takes Akira’s helmet off, Akira clinging to his arm all the way up the stairs, as if they’re kids again. His face is still wet with snot and tears and Ryou regrets giving Akira any of those gummies or even going to the stupid party at all.

They make it to the living room and Akira collapses onto the couch like a rag doll, his arms and legs splayed out and his head leaned all the way back, parallel to the ceiling.

“I’m so tired,” he says and Ryou studies him for a moment: his long, dark eyelashes casting tiny, spider-like shadows onto his cheeks — his parted lips slick and redder than usual.

All but tearing his gaze away, Ryou ventures into the bathroom for a cloth and comes back to sit next to Akira on the couch.

“Sit up,” he commands and Akira obliges slowly, pulling himself up from his dramatic slouch and facing Ryou, who gently starts to wipe Akira’s face with the cloth. Their eyes meet, noses only about an inch apart, Akira’s breath hot on Ryou’s face. Briefly, Ryou lets his eyes slip to Akira’s lips once more, but he’s quick to go back to dabbing away at Akira’s face.

“Thank you,” Akira says, quietly, and Ryou pulls the cloth away from his face to look up at him again.

“For what? You keep saying that.”

Then Akira is closing his eyes and his face is coming closer, his lips just centimeters away from Ryou’s…

But, instead of their lips meeting, as Ryou so stupidly hopes they might, Akira hides his nose again in the crook of Ryou’s neck, his arms tenderly flung over Ryou’s shoulders. 

His body feels like it’s on fire as he hugs Akira back, every nerve under his skin awake, his heartbeat exceedingly loud in his ears.

“Akira…”

“Yeah?”

Ryou’s throat is tight with emotion. There are a million thoughts in his head, but none of them coherent enough to voice. He swallows and takes a deep breath, his desperate hands fisted aimlessly in the back of Akira’s shirt.

“Are you still tired?”

“Yeah,” Akira nods into Ryou’s neck. “Can I sleep with you?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

There’s a moment of silence while they sit there, embracing, the rise and fall of their chests slowing against each other as their breathing evens out.

“Does Makimura-san know where I am?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

Akira giggles quietly and Ryou shivers as his warm lips just barely brush Ryou’s collar bone.

“Like you always do.”

Ryou inhales sharply and stands up, letting go of Akira.

“Come on,” he says and holds out a hand to pull Akira off the couch.

They walk into Ryou’s dark bedroom, not bothering to turn on the lights as they shrug off their street clothes. Ryou does his best to avoid staring at the naked curve of Akira’s back as he pulls off his shirt, but nonetheless, he catches a glimpse and his stomach plummets — he muses on the concept of famous artists who spend months sculpting statues of their lovers; he can picture soft, wet clay in his hands, but he doesn’t know what he’d ever do with such a material. He imagines the clay becoming watery and slipping through his fingers, onto the floor.

Perhaps Akira is the lump of clay, ready to be molded into something beautiful and everlasting. Or perhaps Akira will drip, piece by piece, out of Ryou’s palms and remain a useless puddle on the ground, something too liquid to be controlled, still completely out of Ryou’s grasp.

They crawl under the massive, fluffy white comforter, Akira sneaking an arm around Ryou’s torso, his hand finding Ryou’s and lacing their fingers together.

Ryou’s heartbeat is pounding against the sides of his skull now — they haven’t held hands since they were young, and only to cross the street or to keep track of each other in a crowd.

“Goodnight, Ryou,” Akira whispers, his head falling onto Ryou’s chest, and Ryou feels as though his entire being is vibrating straight through to his soul, his heart a perpetual jackhammer under his ribs, aching as if it knows it doesn’t belong in his body and it’s trying its best to escape.

“Goodnight,” he responds, his voice empty and distant, a separate entity from the whirring mass of thoughts that’s only interrupted by Akira’s quiet, intermittent snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be introducing a very important OC in the next chapter...and will FINALLY bring in Miki and Miko (THEY DESERVE HAPPINESS). It feels really weird to essentially be writing, like...biblical fanfiction? And I'm a Buddhist, so I'm doing lots of research for this LOL. But, anyway, hope to update soon! In the meantime, bug me on Tumblr!


	3. Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I was always hungry for love. Just once, I wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it -- to be fed so much love I couldn't take any more. Just once." -- Haruki Murakami

Ryou stays in the living room and deals with a few important phone calls while Akira sleeps, doing his best not to disturb him, although he’s probably completely out, as usual. At least, when they shared a room as kids, Akira always slept like a rock. After the last two nights, it doesn’t seem like much has changed.

When he emerges from the bedroom, his hair is all gathered at the left side of his head, sticking up like a massive wave about to crest. He yawns, stretching his arms above his head, and Ryou’s eyes fly immediately to his torso to admire the way his muscles flex ever so slightly under his skin, lingering there until Akira notices.

“Good morning,” he says with a smile and Ryou’s gaze snaps up to his face, his cheeks feeling warm.

“Good afternoon. It’s almost one,” Ryou responds, swallowing, and Akira laughs.

“Oh, is it? I guess I was tired.” He strolls across the wide, empty living room to the white leather couch where Ryou sits, typing away. Sitting down next to him, he peeps over at the laptop’s screen curiously. “Whatcha doing?”

“I was looking at a series of videos on the Cordyceps fungus...apparently there are these new vitality drinks that are using it as a key ingredient.”

“What’s a Cordyceps?”

“It’s an endoparasitoid, but it’s only harmful to insects. Basically, it inhabits an insect’s body and takes over the central nervous system, to the point where it will even force its host toward the end of its life to climb to higher ground, so that when it’s consumed its body from the inside out, it can more easily spread to a new host.”

“So it’s, like...a fungus that turns insects into zombies? That’s kinda scary.”

“It shouldn’t be scary. It’s fascinating. Right now, they’re testing out several drugs with cordyceps in them that are being used to treat alzheimer’s and dementia.”

“Huh. Yeah, I guess that’s pretty cool. I wouldn’t ever try it, though. That energy drink thing, I mean.”

Ryou’s hands are still typing away and several google searches later, he pulls up an article about “The Caterpillar Fungus used in Ancient Chinese Medicine”. Akira reads a few sentences over his shoulder, but doesn’t seem very interested. His stomach rumbling, he stands up and makes his way over to Ryou’s fridge, pulling it open eagerly.

“Hey, Ryou, why don’t you have any food? There’s nothing in here but these weird protein shakes,” Akira complains, taking a bottle from the fridge and reading the label.

“That’s food, isn’t it?” Ryou responds blandly, his eyes rapidly scanning the screen in front of him.

“No wonder you’re so skinny,” he says, putting the shake back and walking back toward Ryou. “Let’s go get breakfast or something. We haven’t been to the city in a while.”

“Why do you want to go to the city? There’s plenty to eat around here.”

“I don’t know...it might be fun. Oh! We could go to that cat cafe in Taito. I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“A cat cafe? No thanks.”

“Whaaat? Why not? We can take the train like old times...and there’s that pier with the ice cream place!”

“I don’t even like ice cream.”

“You’re just saying that. Last time we went, you ate the whole thing.”

“No.”

“Aw, come on, Ryou. We haven’t hung out in months. You were in Hong Kong forever...and you didn’t even tell me when you came back,” Akira pleads, plopping down next to Ryou on the couch again. When Ryou doesn’t look up from the screen, he pushes it down, closing the laptop completely. “Please? I miss hanging out with you.”

Ryou looks at him blankly, his heart twinging of its own accord, much to his dismay. With a sigh, he stands up and fixes the collar on his shirt before taking his phone out and pulling up directions to the cat cafe.

"I had Hyunjin-san wash your clothes from the other night. They’re on the dresser.”

“Oh...thanks! Uh...maybe I should shower first, though?”

Deciding to shower after the go ahead from Ryou and a tour of the bathroom, Ryou’s luxurious array of soaps and shampoos being the most colorful part of his entirely dull, blank canvas of a condo, fifteen minutes later, Akira walks out of the bedroom, grinning at Ryou, his hair wet and shiny under the bright overhead lights.

“So...when’s the next train?” he asks, his excitement palpable.

“We’re not taking the train. Public transportation is filthy.”

“So...your bike, then?”

“Yeah. You wanna drive?”

Ryou walks over to the kitchen and pulls his keys off the marble island, holding them out to Akira, who laughs.

“Ha...wait, are you serious?”

“Of course. Shouldn’t you know how to drive by now? I mean, if your parents ever had time to show you things like that, surely they should have.”

Akira takes the keys from Ryou and swallows, his smile slowly fading as he stares at them in his palm.

“I guess so. You’re saying you’ll teach me?”

“Best way to learn is to do, isn’t it? So, let’s go.”

Smirking, Ryou takes his long, white jacket off one of the coat hooks by the door and throws it on, slipping through the front doors before Akira can say anything in protest.

Once they’ve made it down the driveway and settled onto the bike, Akira fidgets with the controls, feeling overwhelmed.

“H-how do you, uh...make it go?” Akira asks as the engine of the motorcycle idles noisily, his knuckles already white from gripping the handlebars too tightly.

“You’ve got it. That’s the gas. The other side is the brake,” Ryou leans closer to inform him, wrapping his arms snugly around Akira’s middle.

Cautiously, Akira twists the handlebar and the motorcycle lurches forward, inching out past the driveway and into the street. “Yeah, just like that. And then you lean to turn.”

“Ah — I’m going too fast! How do I brake? How do I stop it??”

“The other side is the brake. Twist it with your other hand.”

“The other—? Ah!”

“Not too hard! Just...gently. Like that, yeah. Now, the gas again.”

“Are you sure I should be doing this? It’s really crowded in Tokyo and—”

“ _ Relax _ ,” Ryou coos, hugging Akira closer, his lips just centimeters away from the shell of Akira’s ear. “Stress will affect your driving. It’s critical that you manage your emotions in situations that require fast decision-making.”

Akira takes a few deep breaths, still driving down the road hesitantly, before deciding to lay on the gas a little harder as they approach an intersection.

“Should I go straight?”

“Turn left here, when it’s green. But let the other cars go first.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just go when I tell you to go.”

“Okay.”

“Go now.”

He hesitates before turning, then starts to freak out and turn too hard just as a car is headed toward them, going too fast to stop. 

“Shit! Ryou!”

Cooly, Ryou’s arms lurch under Akira’s to grab for the handlebars himself, forcing the bike in the right direction seconds before the car could hit them. He can feel Akira almost hyperventilating, his back undulating against Ryou’s chest with every large intake of breath.

“How many times do I have to tell you to trust me? I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”

“Okay, pull over somewhere. You’re driving. I can’t do this.”

“Fine.”

Ryou pulls the bike over when he sees an opportunity and they both get off, switching places.

“How come you never wear a helmet?” Akira asks as he settles in behind Ryou, his arms crossing over his stomach.

“I only have one,” Ryou responds and with a couple revs of the engine, they’re off again.

It takes a good forty-five minutes or so to get to the cafe, what with all the traffic. But, it’s worth it not to have to ride on the train — Ryou hates how filthy people are, when he’s faced with a compact crowd of them. Even in such a conscientious culture, they’re careless: they don’t bathe, and they don’t always wear masks, even when they’re sick...the world would be much better off without them and their selfish, destructive inclinations.

If only Akira knew how nature would flourish, being rid of humans — how the Earth could reclaim what it had so miraculously cultivated millions of years ago. Their creation was a mistake. They’re a disease upon the Earth that he will always be fruitless in his attempts to cure, because God apparently favors the lesser of his creations.

He’s an idiot, through and through. An idiot blessed with too much power.

They end up parking several blocks away — the city is always packed and it’s impossible to find an empty space. Ryou doesn’t care about getting tickets, really, but they’re a nuisance and he’d rather not deal with the police.

Walking side by side to the cafe, Akira runs up to the window when they get there, like a little kid might do, peeping through excitedly.

“Ryou, look at all the cats!” Akira says, little wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he grins from ear to ear.

“It’s a cat café. They’re supposed to have cats,” Ryou responds flatly, but Akira ignores him and grabs his arm, dragging him in through the doors as if he weren’t walking toward them already.

The inside of the cafe is warm and the decorations are brightly colored, from the yellow wallpaper, to the huge bouquets of tulips and sunflowers at each table. The comforting smell of sugar and coffee hangs in the air like a thin blanket wrapped around a pair of cold shoulders. All around the cafe, there are different kinds of cats snoozing, lounging, or playing with toys dangled teasingly by patrons.

A petite woman with long, dark hair, dressed in a short, flowy white dress spotted with magenta roses greets them at the door, bowing deeply.

“Welcome! It’s an honor to have you here. Would you like a table for two?” she asks, tilting her head and batting her eyes at them.

“Yes, please!” Akira responds, still smiling.

“If you would like to follow me,” she suggests, leading them to a table near a giant cat scratcher tower, where a fluffy calico, orange tabby, and black cat with white feet are sitting quietly. Akira’s eyes follow them as they pass by and he almost runs into the table, but Ryou puts a hand on his back to steer him in the right direction. “Here are our drink and lunch menus. I’ll be back in a few minutes to take your order, okay?”

“Okay, thank you!” Akira says, with a tiny bow in her direction. Completely ignoring the menus, Akira gets up and goes over to the tower, kneeling down to be at eye level with the orange tabby, which he gives a little rub between the ears. “Hello, cat-chan. What’s your name?”

“They don’t know what you’re saying,” Ryou explains to him over the menu, but Akira, again, ignores him.

“He’s a little grumpy sometimes, sorry,” he whispers to the cat and the cat purrs in response, delighting in Akira’s pets. “And what about you? What’s your name?”

He stands up a little higher to speak with the black and white cat, who gives a quiet, “Meow” as if he’s answering Akira’s question.

“Boots-chan it is,” he says, then turns to Ryou and points at the cat’s feet. “See? He’s got little white boots. Like you.”

“Are you going to order anything?” Ryou asks.

“Oh, yeah. Get me, um...some milk tea and...you know what I like to eat. Order me something...oh, hi, there!”

While he’s petting the black and white cat, the calico comes out from behind one of the scratching posts and brushes up against Akira’s arm, purring loudly. Feeling left out, the orange tabby soon joins them on the same level, brushing up against Akira’s other arm.

“Gosh. I wish I had three hands! I can’t pet you all at the same time!”

A new woman, this time dressed in more formal clothing — a black pencil skirt and suit jacket — comes up to their table to address Ryou. The skin between her eyebrows wrinkles as she sniffles loudly, as if she has a runny nose. But, she doesn’t grab a tissue.

“Hello. I’ll be your server today. Have you decided what you’d like to order?” she asks, holding a little pad of notepaper and a pen.

“I’ll have a milk tea, a black coffee, and an order of strawberry french toast. With extra whipped cream,” Ryou orders and the waitress takes a few seconds to write it all down.

“Okay, I’ve got it. Anything else for you today?”

“That’s it, thanks.”

She walks off with another prominent sniffle, leaving Ryou to scroll through Twitter on his phone dully. Now sitting on the floor, Akira is trying to pet all three cats as much as possible — the black and white cat has climbed into his lap and looks as though he’s about to take a nap, while the other two are occupying both of Akira’s hands and purring.

“Ryou-chan?” Akira asks, scooping the calico cat into his arms and letting her nuzzle into his neck. “If I move in with you, can we get a cat? Or two? I think one would get lonely…”

Ryou looks up from his phone and blinks at Akira; this is the first time he’s ever mentioned the possibility of them moving in together. He had almost given up on it at this point. The idea thrills him — all he’s ever wanted is to have Akira by his side — but the idea of pets is not so thrilling.

“No,” he says, then goes back to scrolling through Twitter.

“Awww...why?”

“They’re messy. And they smell. No.”

“Think of all the kittens out there without homes! We would be  _ saving _ them.”

“No,” Ryou repeats, firmly, then kicks a cat aside when it brushes up against his boot.

“Ryou!” Akira gasps when the cat makes a high-pitched, “Reow!” and stumbles away from him quickly. “You can’t do that. It was just saying hi.”

“It wasn’t saying hi. It can’t speak. And he was leaving hair all over my boots.”

Akira frowns at him, still petting the three cats that have gathered around him, but he quickly forgets his frustration when two more cats walk up and brush against his knees.

“More of you? I only have two hands!”

“And you should probably wash them before you eat. Cats are filthy.”

“They’re not filthy. They’re actually cleaning themselves, constantly.”

“With their own spit.”

Now doing his best to pet the new cats that have joined him, Akira just shrugs at Ryou.

The food arrives about fifteen minutes later and Akira tries his best to move the black and white kitty from his lap as gently as possible.

“Okay, guys. I’ve gotta go eat.”

“Meow,” the orange tabby complains and Akira gives him a few scratches on his neck before moving to the table.

“Oh, my favorite! I haven’t had french toast in forever! And they even put whipped cream on it...wow. Thank you, Ryou!” Sipping at his black coffee, Ryou doesn’t respond, but just continues scrolling through Twitter, the faint glow of his phone reflecting in the whites of his eyes. “So, where do you want to go after this?”

“Home.”

“Hmmm…” Akira says, stuffing a forkful of french toast into his mouth. “...I was thinking we could go to that ice cream place, by the pier. The one by the bookstore.”

“If you want.”

“Then...we could go to the bookstore...which I know you like.”

Ryou wishes Akira wouldn’t try to talk between bites, but he also can’t deny that he finds his enthusiasm somewhat charming, the way his thoughts sometimes orbit around his pupils in little globes of light.

“If that’s what you’d like to do…”

Akira waits until he’s swallowed his mouthful of food, staring at Ryou intently as he does, before he says something more.

“You’re allowed to have opinions, y’know.” When Ryou doesn’t respond to this and takes a long sip from his coffee instead, he presses it. “Do you even want anything? Ever?”

Ryou contemplates this question, savoring it as someone would an expensive wine, letting a slew of possible answers rest at the back of his tongue, making sure whatever he says is right.

“Yes,” is the answer he settles for, although something so vague could only hope to insight more questions.

It’s as if he’s daring Akira to push it further, to make him admit his feelings, which to him are so painfully obvious and yet, the two of them seem ever confined to the label of “friends”. But, fear creeps up on him again, like a bad rash that he can’t get rid of.

“Like what?”

There it is: the question he could easily answer with a confession. But, his words cling to his lungs in the guise of a breath he’s not willing to take, so he can instead feel comfortable in his stagnancy. All he can do for now is hope that maybe one day Akira catches on, that he doesn’t somewhere down the line end up falling in love with some doey-eyed tramp like Rei Yamashita who doesn’t deserve him.

“I want...” he considers, trailing off as he frames his words more carefully in his mind. “...you around. I like being around you. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing, Akira. Nothing at all.”

His voice sounds foreign as it exits his mouth, as if someone else is saying these words. Akira’s near-perpetual smile fades, his eyes wide and mouth parted in surprise as he looks back at Ryou. Then, he looks away, smiling again, and a faint blush creeps onto his cheeks.

“Wow. I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me...”

The waitress comes back with a coffee pot in her hand, which she tips as if she’s about to refill Ryou’s mug. She’s still sniffling — perhaps she’s sick, or she just hasn’t had time to blow her nose. Ryou finds it very distracting, nonetheless.

“Can we get the check, please?” he says, holding out a hand to shoo the coffee pot away.

She bows, embarrassed, her arm retreating quickly.

“Excuse me. Sorry about that. I’ll get that out for you right away.”

“I think you scared her,” Akira says, still blushing, but Ryou doesn’t care. There’s no point in wasting fresh coffee.

While Akira is finishing up his french toast, Ryou finds an article Miki posted about an eclipse that’s supposed to be happening tomorrow night.

“Hmmm...there’s an eclipse tomorrow night. A lunar eclipse. Miki tweeted an article about it.”

“Oh, the blood moon? I thought that was next week...yeah, Miki’s been talking about it for a while. She gets really excited about that stuff. She bought us special glasses to watch it with and everything.”

“That’s smart.”

“Yeah...do you want to watch it with us?”

“I thought Miki hated me.”

“What? Why do you say that?”

Ryou flips through his phone quickly and after a few seconds, pulls up a very old conversation with Miki, showing it to Akira. Granted, it was almost a year ago, but she had sent him a long message about how he was a bad influence on Akira and how he should stay away from him. She even cited something that had happened several years ago that Ryou had nearly forgotten about.

_ When he still lived with Miki’s parents, there was a cat that would come over, almost exactly at 3am every night, and meow outside of his and Akira’s window loudly. It always woke Akira up. Ryou very rarely slept, save for the minimum hours he had to in order to keep his human form functioning properly, so it didn’t bother him all too much, but as the weeks went on, he could tell it was affecting Akira. _

_ Akira was exhausted, waking up every morning with huge dark circles sunken into the skin under his eyes that looked like little craters. His gaze would wander during his lessons and he would struggle to keep his head up on his desk. _

_ So, naturally, one night, when the cat had awoken Akira again, and he was holding a pillow over his ear to shut the noise out, Ryou had crept down to the backyard, taken his knife out, and slashed the cat’s throat. _

_ Akira must have heard the cat cry out, because when Ryou had gotten back into the room, he was sitting straight up and looking at him, horrified. _

_ “Ryou...tell me you didn’t…” he had started, whispering so that nobody could overhear through the thin walls. _

_ “It was keeping you awake,” Ryou responded coldly. _

_ “No... _ Ryou… _ ” As soon as he heard sniffling, he knew Akira was crying. “I-I could have told the neighbors to keep their cat in at night. I could have done something else. You didn’t have to kill her...do you think she’s still alive? What did you do to her?” _

_ “It’s dead. I slit its throat and it died instantly.” _

_ After a solid 2 minutes of Akira crying, his face hidden in the crook of his elbow so as not to make too much noise, he looked out the window and into the backyard, sniffling. _

_ “Her name...is Tani...and she looks just like Taro. They’re probably friends…” _

_ Ryou didn’t feel bad, of course. He was doing Akira a favor, even if he didn’t know it at the time. But, he wasn’t an idiot — he knew he had caused Akira great distress, and he definitely never meant to do that. _

_ “I’m sorry.” _

_ “You can’t do things like that. You can’t go around killing anything that causes problems. Problems can be solved in other ways, okay? Next time just talk to me. We’ll figure it out. I’ll show you another way to deal with it. Okay? Ryou?” _

_ But, killing was an easy, permanent solution — Akira just had too much empathy and it prevented him from being able to do it. So, he’d nodded, although internally, it wasn’t in agreement, but more out of understanding, that he would continue to do the harsher things that Akira didn’t have the guts to do. _

_ “Okay.” _

_ “And we won’t tell anybody. So you won’t get in trouble.” _

_ Then, Akira had scooped him into a hug, as he always did, ever giving him the kind of love Ryou knows he wishes his parents would give him, the kind of love Ryou wants to be able to give him in return. _

When Miki had sent the text, he had ignored it, as usual, and Miki had refused to acknowledge his existence at school for weeks afterward, but she forgot about it eventually, as he knew she would.

“Wow...she said all that?” Akira says, reading through everything. “And how does she know about the cat? Shoot...I’m a really bad liar, huh?”

“It’s why I moved out. The Makimuras pulled me aside to talk about it when you weren’t there. So, instead of causing problems, I left.”

The waitress comes back to bring them their check, bending down humbly to put it into Ryou’s outstretched hand, then hurrying away to let him deal with it.

He puts a few bills in the sleeve, setting it down on the table.

“I missed you,” Akira mumbles, playing with the syrup-covered fork on his plate, his elbow on the table, supporting his head as he rests his cheek on his hand.

“I came back.”

“I didn’t hear from you for over a year. I thought something bad might have happened.”

“You didn’t have a cell phone.”

“And then you sent me one. What were you doing in Hong Kong, anyway?”

“Business.”

“What kind of business?”

Ryou smirks, the promise of secrets hidden behind his thin, pale lips.

“I’ll happily answer all your questions, Akira. But, I don’t think you’ll like my answers.”

Frowning, Akira sets down his fork when the waitress comes back for the check. Ryou stands up and walks toward the exit, failing to push in his chair on the way out; Akira does it for him, bowing and giving an extra polite, “Thank you very much!” to the hostess as they leave.

“Well,” Akira says, with a yawn, stretching his arms over his head again. “I think we should go get ice cream.”

“I wouldn’t mind going to the bookstore, actually.” As they step out of the café, Ryou’s phone rings and he fishes it out of the pocket of his massive jacket, but declines the call.

“Rachmaninov?” Akira asks, upon hearing his ringtone, and Ryou nods. “I like that song.”

  
  


Their journey to the ice cream shop isn’t nearly as eventful, but definitely just as long; the afternoon traffic is at its peak, but Ryou expertly maneuvers through the busy roads, something Akira definitely couldn’t pull off. The weather is clear, albeit a little sunnier than it has been for the past week, the massive blue sky above them spotted in only thin, fleeting clouds that disappear and reappear in different shapes and sizes, following the wind.

They can see the ocean now, the ice cream shop and the bookstore located just before a large pier that extends out over a rocky, empty beach. The water is a deep, grey-blue, the sun reflecting on its surface in small circles of white light. This is one of the things that Ryou has enjoyed most, during his time on Earth — the ocean is so vast and powerful, and the creatures that inhabit it so fascinating. Most of its beauty lies in its potential, its deep trenches no doubt hiding strange and yet undiscovered things, and water in itself is essential to life. But, something as simple as a wave illustrates its capabilities by cracking against the cliffs, chipping away at the limerock, and swirling around rocks in great currents that could easily drag one under.

Akira unstraps his helmet and leaves it tied to the handle of the bike, his hair charmingly messy as always.

“Humans have explored less than 5 percent of the ocean. It’s unbelievable. They know more about space than what’s under the sea. And, since the ocean makes up 70 percent of Earth, that means an entire 65 percent of this planet is still a mystery. There must be some creatures hiding deep in some of those trenches that adapted to the pressure and survived the mass extinction of the dinosaurs, don’t you think?

All the stories you hear about sea monsters and krakens and things like that are inventive, sure, but I find that most stories require some kind of basis in truth,” Ryou rambles as they walk toward the ice cream shop, which is marked by a dingy sign decorated with a cone and two scoops of pink and green ice cream that have anthropomorphic smiles painted onto them.

He knows that long before the dinosaurs, demons thrived well below the surface of the Earth, most born from magma that ran in giant rivers underground — afterall, the core of the Earth was like a tiny sun in its own way, bursting with energy and terrible heat. These were the creatures that were not created in the egocentric image of God, but doomed to walk about without much purpose or vision, not unlike any other creature here. Demons never had large ships of oil that crashed at sea and polluted entire ecosystems, nor did they create and harness nuclear power, a cataclysmic force seemingly unparalleled, at least among mortals. Humans use their intelligence to further themselves with complete disregard to what exists around them, cutting down entire forests to fuel their desires, utilizing machines that produce chemicals capable of ripping huge holes in the ozone...and, even witnessing the effects of their industrialization, they ignore it all for the sake of comfortability and technological advancement.

Instead of being at harmony with the Earth, as they no doubt were intended to be, they are using it up, every last bit of it, with complete disregard for the consequences.

“I think it’s scary, but really cool, too. I don’t know. I get kinda scared when I don’t know too much about something. It doesn’t stop me from wanting to know more, though,” Akira responds. There are some pieces of garbage strewn about a trash can outside of the shop and Akira bends down to pick them all up. “I guess someone missed.”

He hums thoughtfully to himself and once he’s finished putting it all back in the can where it belongs, he holds the door open for Ryou to go inside.

Stepping into the shop, Ryou is overwhelmed by the smells of cinnamon buns and floor cleaner; there’s a yellow sign at the front that says, “Caution: Wet Floor” and the linoleum is slick, as if someone has just mopped. Akira goes up to the counter and looks through a long, glass case that runs almost the entire length of the store at all the different flavors of ice cream.

“Oh, they have different flavors than last time. Strawberry shortcake sounds really good. What are you gonna get, Ryou?”

Ryou is still staring at the water through the window, but he turns his head when Akira says his name.

“I’m not going to get anything.”

“You always get vanilla, don’t you? I’ll just get you a scoop of that. And if you don’t eat it, I will.” There’s no use in fighting Akira and he prefers not getting into arguments. They definitely have their fair share, usually because they’re both stubborn and Ryou tends to be very quiet and nonchalant, something Akira doesn’t always appreciate. “Excuse me? Hi, can I have a scoop of strawberry shortcake and a scoop of vanilla, please?”

A thin, old man with wire glasses comes up to the counter and nods at Akira’s request, moving to fetch the ice creams. Ryou takes a few small bills out of his wallet and gives them to the man when he hands them the cones. 

They take the ice cream outside and go to sit on the edge of the pier, their feet dangling under the tall, wooden guard rails put up to prevent people from falling in. Akira swings his feet as he licks away at his ice cream, trying to eat it all before it melts. While Ryou is staring out at the water, he takes a few bites of his own; it’s pretty good, as far as food goes. He can understand why Akira likes these things. He knows that eating sweets in excess can lead to all sorts of health problems, though, so he sticks to his Calorie Mate shakes. They require no preparation, in any case, which leaves him with more time to be productive.

“I’m glad I got the strawberry shortcake. It’s really good. How’s yours?” Akira asks, a tiny spot of pink at the edge of his mouth. Without hesitation, Ryou wipes it away with his thumb. “Oops...do I have any more on my face?”

“No, I got it.”

He finishes his ice cream, listening to the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and around the rocks that litter the outskirts of the beach. There are a few noisy seagulls nearby, fighting over a piece of food, and Akira laughs, watching them.

“I wish I had some bread or something to give them, so they didn’t have to fight.” He scoots closer to Ryou, so that their thighs are touching, and leans over to peer at the water. “If the water wasn’t so dark, maybe you could see some jellyfish.”

“In Okayama, they have bioluminescent shrimp that wash up onto the rocks. They look normal during the day, but at night, they glow bright blue, like a gemstone.”

“I’ve seen pictures of those! We should go sometime. We’ve never been on a real trip together. I think it’d be fun.”

“We could go anytime you’d like.”

“Don’t you have work or anything?”

“Nothing I can’t miss.”

Still looking down at the water below his feet, a small smile tugs at the corners of Akira’s lips. He stays silent for a few minutes, his legs seesawing over the edge of the pier, and then he stands up.

“You said you wanted to go to the bookstore.” Ryou nods, standing up as well and dusting the back of his jacket off. “Let’s go.”

He holds his hand out to Ryou and Ryou blinks down at it, his heart in his throat. Surely, Akira doesn’t mean for him to take it? But, there’s nothing in his palm for him to grab, just his hand outstretched, invitingly. So, Ryou takes it, and they walk together, side by side, into the bookstore, a violent blush spreading across his cheeks.

The man at the front desk gawks at them as they stroll in, hands still clasped together, his nose scrunching up as if he’s smelled something awful. Ryou glares at him, but Akira doesn’t notice; while they wander through the shelves of old, dusty books, he stays right by Ryou’s side.

“Akira,” Ryou says after a while, taking a particularly fat book off the shelf and blowing the dust off the top. “Have you read the bible?”

Akira scratches the back of his head, looking at the tome in Ryou’s hands guiltily.

“Um...I was supposed to. Miki and her family wanted me to, obviously. I never got past the first page, though. I thought it was boring. My parents are shintoists, so I don’t really know too much about it all, aside from going to church with the Makimuras sometimes.”

“And what are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you a Christian? Do you worship God?”

“No, not really. I just say grace and stuff to be polite.”

“So, are you a shintoist?”

“I’m not really...anything.”

Ryou nods, his eyes wide as he skims through a passage in the book he’s taken off the shelf; all of a sudden, he bursts into laughter, his finger stuck under a sentence.

“ _ ‘I will ascend to the heavens; I will raise my throne above the stars of God. I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly, on the utmost heights of Mount Zaphon. I will ascend above the tops of the clouds; I will make myself like the Most High.’” _

“Is that The Old Testament?”

“Yes. Do you know —” Ryou starts, but he’s interrupted by his phone ringing again.

This time, he decides to answer it. Itou is on the other line and he can hear the distinct sounds of a man screaming in the background, so he cups the phone with his hand and brings it closer to his ear.

“You didn’t answer...where have you been? We ran into some issues here…” Itou says, frantically.

The screaming coming from the phone is rather loud, to the point where the man behind the front desk turns to look in his direction, confused.

“I told you not to call me. I told you to call Tsuki. I believe I also made it clear that this task was for her and Takeshi,  _ not _ you.”

“She called us in. Asmodeus is gone...he fled as soon as they appeared. He was here for a second, and when he left, Kamigawa...chan...” A faint, muffled sob can be heard on the other line and Ryou knits his eyebrows, now concerned. “ _ He _ sent them.”

“Who’s they? Sent who? Itou?”

Ryou hears a large crash and the line goes dead. He holds the phone out and stares at it, adrenaline starting to course through his body.

“Ryou? Is everything okay?” Akira asks, putting his hand on Ryou’s arm, his eyebrows knitted with concern.

“I have to go. I’ll drop you off at home,” Ryou explains dully, turning around with a dramatic whip of his coat. “What are you looking at?”

He steps up to the bookstore owner behind the desk, who challengingly glares back at him.

“People like you are bad for business. You’re not welcome in here.”

Without a second’s hesitation, Ryou jumps up onto the desk, shoving the man against the wall with his knife at his throat.

“People like me, huh?  _ People _ ?”

Laughing like an utter maniac, Ryou’s eyes catch the light and gloss over, becoming two orbs of opaque white, hidden from Akira’s line of sight.

The man sees Ryou’s eyes and yells out as soon as Ryou pulls his knife away and heads for the door — he’s trembling from head to toe and pointing at Ryou with terrified, bulging eyes.

“D-demon!” he croaks out, his voice pathetically high-pitched.

Ryou slams the door shut behind Akira and him, then straightens out his jacket and walks, quickly and intently, toward where he parked his bike.

“Whoa. What just happened? Is that guy crazy or something? Why’d you take your knife out??” Akira asks, but Ryou is too focused to hear anything but the wind rushing past his ears and the tumultuous thoughts bouncing around in his mind. “Itou-san? That’s the guy from the party, right? The one who works for you? Is everything okay?”

“It doesn’t sound like it. I’ll have to meet up with them. It’s best you go home. I’ll see you at school tomorrow.”

“You’re going to school tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll go. I haven’t been in a while.”

Almost running at this point, Akira and Ryou make it to the bike in no time. Ryou tosses Akira his helmet and he holds it in his hands for a second before putting it on.

“Are you in danger?” he asks, and Ryou is all too quick to answer, as if Akira’s question were a grenade, and he has his fingers on the pin.

“Not a chance,” Ryou spits, settling onto the bike as he waits for Akira to put on his helmet and join him.

The sun is low in the sky and casts tall, willowy shadows along the road through the trees that litter either side of it. 

Once they’re both situated, Ryou revs the engine a few times, then speeds off down the road, the cold, evening air cascading like a lake of ice water over their shoulders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate anyone who is still following this fic. This chapter took me forever because I'm currently working full time and going to school full time, so I don't have a single day off and it's been difficult to juggle. But, this fic is my baby and I promised I would finish it. I have been working on it in bits and pieces every day I possibly can. I WILL FINISH THIS SOMEDAY. It will not be abandoned.
> 
> Anyway, this is a simple fluff chapter -- it got a little too long to introduce the arch I mentioned in the notes of my last chapter, so that is all coming NEXT chapter, I promise!
> 
> I adore pre-Amon Akira and I hardly ever see anyone write him, so I'm really enjoying being able to write for him.
> 
> This song has been inspiring me and giving me all the ryokira feels, so feel free to enjoy while I inevitably take way too long to post the next chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JTeKpWp8Psw


	4. Eclipse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new student at school and Ryou doesn't like her. They all end up watching the eclipse together, on the Makimuras' rooftop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** I'm dedicating this chapter to Eric <3 RIP my friend. I wish I could have shared it with you. **
> 
> I am SO sorry this took so long to publish. A lot has been going on in my life, but school ends in two weeks, so I hope to have another chapter up soon! Thank you guys for sticking with it, if you're still waiting for updates. I know I take forever!

After dropping Akira off at home, Ryou speeds back to his apartment. By now the sun has made its way down the sky and cast Japan into darkness, only the dull glow of headlights and cobalt street lamps illuminating the road beyond.

When he pulls into the driveway, he notices the motion-activated lights he had installed aren’t turning on. He’s sure he also left a few lights on in the kitchen before he left, but behind the windows there is nothing but seeping blackness. 

His true form buzzes away eagerly under his skin, like an itch he isn’t allowed to scratch.

Licking his lips to moisten them after being dried out by the wind, he walks his bike into the garage, then swaggers quietly and confidently up the walkway. The door is unlocked and partially open, but he isn’t surprised. He steps through slowly, taking his time to lock it behind him. There’s one small lamp in the corner of the room near the couch that has been left on and a group of fruit flies have gathered in clumps on the inside to form the shape of a frowning face. More buzz about the rest of the apartment, avoiding Ryou as if magnetically repelled by him, hovering amongst the sudden, misplaced smell of rotting, burning flesh.

Ryou waves his hand and the lights come back on, flooding the apartment in a blinding white. The blinds fall over the windows and the flies disappear. After a nonchalant stretch and yawn, his brilliant, white wings burst from his back like a ship’s sail being hoisted and he takes a deep breath in, breathing with new lungs, flooding his true body with useless oxygen just to revel in the sensation of it. Although his human body has been precisely created to suit his preferences, he much prefers this body. Lucifer is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful creations of God: the kind of beauty that cannot be replicated by mortals, incomparable even to the golden haze of early-morning fog on a grassy hill, or the freshly-spread petals of a moonflower, lovely and fragrant as it is deadly.

“Lillith,” he mutters to a long, dark sweater hidden in the deep shadow of a crevice by his bedroom door.

Upon hearing Satan’s voice, the sweater moves as if picked up by a gust of wind, but all the windows are closed now and the doors are securely locked. Long, skinny white arms grow from the sleeves and with them hands sporting thin, spindly fingers adorned in pointed, black nails. Slowly, as legs fall out of the garment and a head appears from the collar, the new figure walks toward the living room, where Satan stands, and bows humbly, its face almost touching the floor before it steadily picks itself back up.

“My lord, it has been far too long,” a voice slithers into his ears, like a symphony of cicadas spelling out words.

Her eyes are pure, blazing red as she looks up at him, void of any iris or pupil, making it impossible to tell exactly where her focus lies. Underneath is nothing but pale, grey skin — no mouth, no nose — just a sharp jawline that comes to a point at the bottom of her face.

“I assume you didn’t get the memo, that this apartment is off limits.”

“I apologize. I was aware of the Fudou and Makimura households, but not of your apartment. So, the boy is staying with you here?”

“Akira Fudou stays where he wants to stay. It should make no difference to you. Wherever he is, he is to be left alone.”

“As you wish, My Lord.”

She bows again.

“Sit,” Ryou commands, pointing to the couch and sitting in the armchair across from it himself. She does as she’s told, the sweater holding her form now bulky and draping loosely and delicately, like a large cape, around her. “Start from the beginning.”

The wind picks up outside, thrashing against the sides of the house like a wild animal scratching at the door, begging to be let in.

Lillith sets her unblinking, inhuman eyes on Ryou and shifts in her seat slightly, crossing her legs.

“We went to the warehouse, as you requested, to make the Shibuya deal. We were under the impression we were meeting with the Hanzos, but we were greeted by an archangel.”

Satan’s eyes roll back into his head as he siphons through Lilith’s memories. Within seconds, his pupils drop back into place and he looks at the wall with a hard glare.

“Michael.”

“He was looking for you. When we didn’t give him the information he wanted, he —”

“— slaughtered almost three quarters of you without hesitation. What a shame. Itou was very useful. I’ll add it to the ever-growing list of such transgressions Michael has wrought against me, and he will surely pay for each.”

Lillith nods, but says nothing.

“He has effectively waged war upon us.”

“As he is wont to do.”

“I didn’t come just to fill you in on what happened. I came to make a proposition as well.”

“Then forget the exposition and make it.”

As a lion sits atop his den waiting for another to challenge his territory, Satan silently waits for Lillith to speak again. Her tongue slithers away in her mouth, forming words at an infuriatingly glacial pace.

“Amon is gone. He will not return. I am here, your faithful servant, ready to be useful to you whenever you need me. I have powers far greater than even the esteemed Amon; you have bestowed this exact phrase upon me.

“The boy — Akira Fudou. If you wish to reign with him beside you, he will require a stronger vessel. I offer myself to you, My Lord…”

She gets down onto the floor and kneels, her head bowed down, long, silken hair hanging over her face, hiding her expression with rehearsed modesty.

The house shakes, the pots and pans in the kitchen clattering together like a cacophony of discordant instruments.

“Your doubt is shameful. He will not be harmed. Take my word for it. Nor will his body be corrupted by the likes of you. Your hunger for power is written upon your face as clear as day.”

His whole body seems to be levitating just a centimeter above the couch on which he’s perched so elegantly, light radiating from his skin like a glowworm.

Lillith’s shoulders tense; she stands up quietly and slowly, careful not to make eye contact.

“Forgive me,” she whispers.

“Lay a finger on him and I can assure you, you will suffer a fate worse than anything your pathetic little mind can engender.”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“If anyone else wishes to place their sights upon him, they shall suffer the same fate.”

“I’ll let it be known.”

With that, he stands and walks over to the door, unlocking it as if to see Lilith out.

“I’ll remind you that this apartment is off limits.”

“Understood. I’m sorry, My Lord. I’ll have more information gathered for you tomorrow.”

“I expect it.”

She glides over to the door and vanishes once she hits the driveway, like a wisp of grey smoke over the horizon.

Once she’s gone, Ryou retreats to his bedroom to mull over their conversation. He’s sitting on top of all the blankets of his bed, hands clasped over his stomach, as his thoughts chase every little crack in the cement ceiling.

He can’t deny that she’s right about one thing: Akira will need a stronger vessel. No matter how omnipotent Ryou is, Akira will be in immense danger if he remains in his frail, human form. But, with Amon so unjustly vanquished and Xenon’s proclivity toward betraying him at every turn, Ryou is near out of options.

He stands up from the bed, several fluffy, white feathers falling from his wings, and looks out the window. The night is dark and nebulous, making it easy to see his frustration mockingly reflected in the glass. Eventually irritated by his own inefficacy, he grabs the nearest lamp and throws it at the wall, thick, opaque glass scattering across the ground.

…

When the early-morning sunlight has hit the rooftops with a dull, orange glow, Ryou finds himself standing in the Makimuras’ kitchen. Mrs. Makimura pretends to have missed him and says she hopes he’s doing well as he endures a hug from her. She also explains that Mr. Makimura is on a trip and will be back by the end of the week. The last lie is that he would be happy to see Ryou and that Ryou should pop by for dinner sometime.

Humans are easily readable, their thoughts and emotions constantly streaming like newsreels across their foreheads for all to see. If only he could read Akira as easily.

Akira comes down from his room to spare Ryou from the chit chat, his messenger bag slung over his shoulders. A bright smile spreads across his face upon seeing him; it’s the kind of smile Akira gives to everyone, but Ryou cherishes it nonetheless. Akira wraps his arms around him and pulls him in for a hug and Ryou hands him the thermos of warm black tea he’s been carrying.

“Tea? Oh, thanks,” he says quietly, holding it with both hands.

“Are you ready?” Ryou asks, keys jingling between his fingers.

“Yeah. Bye, Mrs. Makimura! I’ll be home after practice!”

“Bye, Akira-kun! I’ll be out, so I’ll leave for money for you and Miki in case you need to order takeout,” Mrs. Makimura calls out, and at that moment, Miki runs down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen and turning to face Akira and Ryou.

“Oh, hi, Ryou-kun. Are you taking Akira-kun to school?”

Not paying her all too much attention, Ryou just walks toward the door, a hand on Akira’s back, steering him in the same direction.

“Yes,” is the only response he gives and her eyes linger on Akira worriedly as they head outside.

“I’ll see you at practice, Akira-kun! And don’t forget about the eclipse!”

“I still have the glasses you gave me. Will Miko-san be there?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna walk over after practice. You and Ryou-kun can join us, if you want.”

She says this hesitantly, knowing Ryou would probably decline any offer of being in the same room as her for anything that isn’t absolutely necessary. The door is still open, letting all the heat out, but Mrs. Makimura doesn’t seem to care about their conversation at all. She’s scrubbing a big pot in the sink that was probably used for breakfast.

“I’ll be there,” he responds, and Akira’s face lights up with excitement.

“Oh, awesome! Yeah, we’ll see you later then, Miki-chan!” Akira says, grinning.

“Bye, Aki--!” she calls after them, but the door is shut before she can finish.

Miki- _ chan _ …

The hairs on the back of Ryou’s neck stand up and he bites the inside of his lip, his car beeping from the other side of the street as he unlocks it.

“Wow! You have a car, too, Ryou? Where was it, this whole time?”

“It was in my garage. I thought the bike was more fun.”

He goes to the passenger side to open the door for Akira, who climbs in and buckles his seatbelt, his eyes wide in astonishment.

Ryou follows suit in the driver’s seat, starting up the car and driving out of the cul de sac, down the road. The houses on either side are small and humble — the Makimuras’ sticks out like a sore thumb, a huge, three-story building with wrap-around patios and floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

“You didn’t have to pick me up. I could have walked, easily.”

“You’re on the way. It gives me an excuse to spend more time with you.”

Akira smiles sheepishly, looking out the window and watching as teenagers spill from their front doors in broken lines, heading toward the high school with their bags slung over their shoulders, pencils poking out from behind their ears, uniform shirts crisp and white and tucked into their pants.

“Did you do the homework?” he asks and Ryou almost laughs. No, he was busy dealing with much more important matters last night, like the fact that the angels have begun attacking them out of nowhere, and for some reason, Michael is involved.

Humans are so silly. They’re caught up in school and work and doing chores around the house, blissfully ignorant of forces above them feuding with enough power to obliterate them from existence. The thought makes Ryou smirk.

“Of course,” he responds. There are many ways he can finish such a menial task in only a matter of seconds, but Akira doesn’t have to know that.

“It’s been a long time since we went to school together.”

“I’ll have to pick you up more often, then.”

Only a minute later, they’re already pulling into the school’s parking lot, Ryou taking a spot a little farther from the entrance because he doesn’t want to drive around in circles like an idiot trying to find something better.

“We’re early. Yamamoto-sensei probably isn’t even there yet,” Akira thinks out loud as he unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door.

No backpack in hand, Ryou climbs out of the car and locks it with a few beeps, then walks side by side with Akira toward their first class. He pulls out his phone, ignoring several messages from his “coworkers” in order to scroll through Twitter.

“Everyone’s tweeting about the blood moon. It doesn’t seem all that exciting to me.”

“Well...if it’s not interesting, you don’t have to watch it with us tonight.”

Hearing the disappointment in Akira’s voice, Ryou looks up at him.

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t. I’m hardly one to be cajoled into things. You know that.”

That seems to make Akira feel better; he puts his hands in his pockets and straightens out his back, walking close to Ryou. Soon, they’ve made it to their first classroom, which, as Akira expected, is locked.

“Class doesn’t start for at least fifteen minutes.”

“Usually Sensei’s early. Let’s just sit until he unlocks the door.”

They sit side by side, their legs just a centimeter apart, on a blue, plastic bench that faces the door of the classroom. The light of Ryou’s phone highlights the whites of his eyes as he continues to scroll through Twitter and Akira just twiddles his thumbs in his lap, his feet stretched out in front of him.

“Miki-chan’s making some of her pickled plum onigiri for tonight. I think she’s excited that Miko-san is coming, too. I don’t think they got along very well until recently. But, now they hang out almost every day. It’ll be the first time she’s ever come over.”

Ryou is incredibly uninterested in Miki’s affairs, but he listens to Akira ramble, anyway. Tonight will be mundane. He’s only observed Miko from a distance, when he’s chosen to watch Akira practice, or just waited for him to be free to hang out. His relationship with Miki has always been strained, too, but he will be civil. The last thing he’d ever want to do is jeopardize his friendship with Akira by starting a feud with someone close to him. That’s something with which he’s still coming to terms: the fact that Akira can and does, in fact, care about other people.

Thinking about it sets Ryou’s skin on fire and makes his blood boil from his toes to his ears. It almost makes him feel as if he’s being betrayed by Akira, again and again, just as he always has been; Akira has perpetually decided something else was more important than Ryou, whether it be Miki or humanity, both of them utterly useless in the grand scheme of things. But, he and Akira are from different worlds. The human race is simple and weak, and although Akira is better than all of them, he is prone to some kind of communal disposition toward them, even when he has taken on a demonic form.

Akira will continue succumbing to being human, no matter what Ryou does. Snippets of his conversation with Lillith surface in his thoughts, but he pushes them away. Of who is left, nobody is worthy enough to home Akira’s soul and reign beside him. But, she was right about one thing: if Akira doesn’t take on a more powerful physical form soon, he might be in danger beyond Ryou’s control.

Ultimately, he doesn’t respond to Akira. He just keeps scrolling through his phone.

“Do you know what causes an eclipse, Akira?”

Akira furrows his eyebrows, confused by the question.

“Um, I think so...it’s when the moon gets between the sun and Earth, which casts a shadow. Right?”

“That’s a solar eclipse. Tonight will be a lunar eclipse. As opposed to a lunar eclipse, which happens every 3 years, a total solar eclipse is much more rare. The light cast by the sun onto Earth remains uninterrupted, at least in a specific location, for about 375 years. I believe the last time there was a total solar eclipse in Shinagawa was around 1646, so we’re due for one soon...When a _solar_ eclipse happens, as you said, it’s because the moon is intercepting that straight line of light. But, with a lunar eclipse, the moon travels behind Earth, so Earth is actually the one almost completely obscuring the moon from the sun for a short period of time.”

He’s explained all of this to many different Akiras, in many different lifetimes. They’ve seen many eclipses together, too, although most of them were partial. But, there’s no light of recognition in Akira’s eyes, that they have spent more than one existence together. Ryou doesn’t expect there to be. All of his memories are gone — he is a blank slate, made for Ryou to take for granted again and again.

“Well, it still sounds neat.”

There’s silence between them for a few minutes until Yamamoto comes into view, walking toward the classroom. Ryou and Akira immediately stand up and bow to him before he unlocks the door.

“Good morning, Sensei!” they say in unison.

“Good morning,” he replies, giving them a small bow in return. “You can go in now if you’d like.”

They do so, following him in and choosing to sit at two desks in the middle of the room, right next to each other.

“Asuka-san. You’ve been absent for a while,” the professor jabs at Ryou, but Ryou smiles back at him, carefree and confident as always.

“I was ill. I have a doctor’s note.”

Sitting down at his desk and going through some papers, Yamamoto just hums in acknowledgement. Ryou pulls a piece of paper out of his coat and puts it in front of him with another bow.

“Excuse me for not being in contact. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s all right, Asuka-san. These things happen.” His eyes sparkle as he looks up at Ryou with a wise smile on his face. “I see great things from you in the future. I’m sure you’ll make us all very proud.”

Ryou resists the urge to laugh.

“Thank you.”

With that, he sits back down at his desk. Akira is rummaging through his bag and pulling out his school books in preparation. There’s a pencil stuck behind his ear, teetering forward precariously, as if it could fall at any moment. A small container with a sheet of dark blue fabric tied around it tumbles out of Akira’s bag and Ryou grabs it for him, putting it on the desk.

“What is this?” he asks, eyeing it with vague interest.

“Oh. That’s the lunch Miki-chan made for me,” Akira replies, taking the container and stuffing it back in his bag.

Ryou swallows any comment he might have, but he vows to make Akira lunch from now on.

The door to the classroom opens a few minutes later and a skinny girl with long, blonde hair steps in, someone Ryou’s never seen before. It’s a little late for people to be adding classes, Ryou thinks to himself, but he simply observes.

She gives the teacher a deep bow and speaks in a quiet voice so saccharine it makes Akira turn his head.

“Excuse me, I was supposed to drop off this paperwork. I’m new. I just moved here last week. So, today is my first day,” she says, handing a thin stack of papers to Yamamoto, who reaches out for them.

“Oh. You must be Amaterasu-san. Please, take a seat. Class will begin shortly. Fudou-san is a great note-taker with almost perfect attendance. Maybe he can catch you up.”

He indicates Akira, who looks away shyly, as his eyes had been lingering on her for a little too long. Amaterasu smiles and walks over to sit next to both of them, much to Ryou’s dismay.

“Hello. My name is Ena Amaterasu. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Amaterasu? That’s a unique name. I’ve never heard it before,” Akira replies, bowing a little with his head. “I'm Akira Fudou. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

She bows her head back, then starts taking her books out of her bag.

Instantly, Ryou doesn’t like her, although he can’t really pinpoint a reason other than she’s very pretty and Akira seems to be getting chummy with her already. He smirks, scrolling through his phone, not even bothering to look up at her as he speaks to her.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” he states and Ena giggles, twirling her hair with one of her fingers.

“I was born in Sendai.”

“That’s not what I meant. Aside from the fact that you’re obviously not Japanese by blood, I mean you must have traveled far to get here this morning. That speck of ultisol on your shoulder couldn’t be from anywhere in Japan. So, did you fly all the way here this morning? Your parents must be very wealthy.”

Ena blinks at him and turns away, blushing abashedly. There’s a hand on his arm and he looks up to see Akira’s irritated face hovering just to his left, although he doesn’t utter any apologies.

“Oh...I did go traveling recently, to America. I have family there, but I was born and raised here in Japan. Excuse me, I have to look over these chapters before class starts. It’ll take me a long time to get caught up.”

She opens her book and Ryou clicks his tongue, apparently amused by this response. Can’t be too careful if there are angels and archangels around, especially if Ryou’s gut feeling is not to trust her. Akira seems upset — admittedly, he’s been rather rude to a stranger for no reason, but unlike him, Ryou has no qualms about treating people in a way that isn’t socially acceptable.

The rest of the class is a blur, but over quickly. Ryou has always planned his classes to match up with Akira’s because he doesn’t really care what he takes. His interests lie in every bit of knowledge there is to learn, although recently his hunger for knowledge has lay mostly in better understanding the human psyche. So, naturally, their next class is also shared.

What rubs him the wrong way is that Blondie happens to have the same class, too, and that Akira gives her a big smile upon realizing this, then invites her to sit next to him. Ryou’s shoulders are tense throughout the professor’s lecture on  _ chytrid mycosis  _ and its effect on frog populations across the world _.  _ He has to flex his fingers under his desk in an attempt to relieve his impending rage.

Thankfully, he doesn’t see her pop up again until their very last class of the day, but Akira does what he did earlier and invites her to sit by him. This time, he even leans over to whisper some things to her when the professor is referencing material that was covered earlier in the year. At the end of class, they’re standing by a bench outside and she rips a piece of notebook paper out to write her phone number down on, then hands it to him.

“Can you text me the notes you mentioned earlier? And maybe I can help with math, if you’re having trouble.”

Akira takes the piece of paper, but Ryou focuses his narrowed eyes on it and it goes flying out of his hand, carried away by the wind.

“Oh, shoot! Sorry.”

“Oops. It wasn’t windy a second ago. Must have picked up just now.”

That statement seems pointed somehow, and Ryou’s hand curls into a fist at his side. He puts an arm around Akira and steers him away from her, toward the relay track at the far side of the school.

“I’m usually the one who helps him with math, so he’s all right,” Ryou says through his teeth.

He can feel Akira’s resistance, but he doesn’t care. Akira gives Ena an apologetic wave goodbye, then eventually gives in to letting Ryou steer him toward practice. It starts in about fifteen minutes, anyway, so he doesn’t want to be late.

“What’s with you today?” Akira asks, his eyebrows furrowing with palpable frustration.

“You should stay away from her.”

“Amaterasu-san?”

“Yes. I don’t trust her.”

“What? Why? You literally just met her today. She seems like a really nice girl.”

“Akira, listen to me.” Ryou stops walking and puts both of his hands on Akira’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes, his pupils shimmering as he tries to impart the seriousness of what he’s about to say. “There are people in this world who are not what they seem. People who will hurt you. Right now, more than ever, you should be on your guard. Trust nobody but me. I will always keep you safe.”

“Ryou...what are you talking about? You’re scaring me.”

“I can’t explain now. I’ll take you for a drive tomorrow and we can talk about it then. But, I need your word, that you will be alert and ready to defend yourself, at any moment.”

“Um...I-I don’t really know what you mean by that…”

Ryou leans closer, his uninterrupted gaze flicking between Akira’s golden eyes.

“Give me your word.”

Akira just nods, swallowing his nervousness and pushing Ryou’s hands off him.

“Okay. You have my word. But, you better explain all this tomorrow. You’re really freaking me out.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

There’s a slight divot in the sidewalk and he almost stumbles, which is a good indication to himself that his mind is elsewhere right now. Whether Ena Amaterasu is really human or not, she is a threat — either to Ryou, Akira, or both of them — and Ryou will make sure to keep her away from him, at all costs.

“The eclipse isn’t until midnight,” Ryou says after a moment of silence and Akira looks over at him.

“Yeah, we were all going to hang out before that, I thought.”

“At the Makimuras’?”

“Yeah. Is that okay? I know it’s been a while…”

Ryou keeps his focus straight ahead as he walks, but soon enough, they’re at the track. There are a few people stretching, already in their uniforms and ready to go. At the back of the group is Miki, who’s smiling and waving at Akira.

“It’s fine.”

With a small smile, Akira adjusts his bag on his shoulder.

“Okay. Well, I’m gonna go change.”

At least he doesn’t ask if Ryou minds waiting for practice to be over. Humans tend to ask if he’s okay with something even after he’s agreed to it and it’s bothersome, but he’s learned to get used to it.

After Ryou finds a seat on the bleachers, he takes his camera out and looks through some of the photos he has on it. There are a few selfies Akira took of both of them, some pictures of plants and fungi Ryou has been cataloguing for research purposes, and some pictures of people who are just a little bit  _ off  _ in a way that seems subhuman — people Ryou will have to look into later.

After a few minutes, while Ryou keeps tabbing through all the pictures, Miki Kuroda, of all people, decides to sit next to him as she slips on her track socks and shoes.

“Hey,” she says, turning toward him. “You’re going to Miki-chan’s place after this, right? For the eclipse?”

Ryou looks up from his camera to acknowledge her.

“Yes,” he responds, then goes back to his photos. There’s one of Akira hugging a tree and smiling that Ryou likes to look at almost every day. He pauses on it, his chest tight.

“Miki-chan told me you’re Akira-kun’s best friend. She said you used to live with them.”

Ryou doesn’t respond to this, still gazing at the picture as if he’s reading some kind of heartfelt card. She’s only stating facts, so he doesn’t feel as if he’s been prompted for a response.

“You used to come to the track a lot and watch him practice.”

“We lived in the same house. I waited so we could walk home together,” Ryou corrects.

It’s another statement that doesn’t prompt a response, but he might as well set her straight. Saying that he only came to watch Akira practice is wrong. He couldn’t give less of a shit about this whole Track and Field thing. Running is a stupid thing to be practicing. Running is the action of an animal who is meant to be prey, not the action of a predator. He stands by the fact that humans should, instead, equip themselves with weapons, or innovate the weapons they have; they are not built to outrun their predators, but to outsmart them with strategy and technology. He has explained this to Akira, but he won’t deign to explain it to Kuroda.

She frowns at his brevity and leans her elbow on her leg, holding her chin in her hand.

“You must care about him a lot.”

With a smirk, Ryou lowers his camera and leans back, propping his feet up on the row of bleachers in front of him.

“Looks like it’s about time for practice to start.”

This is the most polite way he can think of to tell her to fuck off and mind her own business. Akira has come out of the changing room and joins the others in stretching. The coach walks up with a clipboard and a timer. With a huff, she stands and walks back down to the track, the metal of the bleachers squeaking under her feet, making a hideous racket.

He half watches Akira practice and half looks at the pictures on his camera: Akira is graceless and ungainly on the field, but he always reaches his destination. Ryou wonders what he finds so alluring about this destination for which he keeps reaching. In the end, there’s no palpable reward, other than the achievement of simply reaching it.

When the practice is over, Akira, Miki, and Kuroda saunter over and surround him as he stands up from the bleachers and slips his camera back into his coat.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you on these bleachers, Ryou-kun,” Miki observes, a hand on her hip.

Pulling his gaze away from wandering to Akira’s sweat-slick hair, which clings to his forehead like the wilting petals of a hellebore flower, Ryou’s eyes snap up to Miki, his expression dull.

“I had business to attend to,” he responds.

“I’m sure you did.”

Ryou doesn’t say anything more to her, but instead just turns around, his jacket billowing around him as it’s picked up by a light breeze, expecting Akira to follow him down the bleachers and out to the parking lot.

He does.

They get to the Makimuras’ house before Miki and Miko do, but Akira just opens the door so he and Ryou can waltz inside. Ryou feels much more comfortable upon seeing it’s just the two of them; he sits on the couch and props his feet up on the coffee table, turning the TV to the news while Akira plugs in the electric kettle to make some tea.

_ “...Countless, mysterious animal attacks around the Tokyo area. We’re here with Dr. Hatsuharu, head of Kyoto University’s Department of Biological Science. Since the attacks started last year, he’s been researching—” _

“—What are you watching?” Akira’s voice travels across the kitchen to the living room, and soon he’s sitting down next to Ryou with two steaming cups in his hand, one extended out for Ryou to take.

“The news.”

As if the whites of Akira’s eyes are a projector screen, the figures on the TV swim within them while he watches with equally avid horror and interest; Dr. Hatsuharu is explaining how the victims of these maulings were torn asunder, unrecognizable by anything but the forms of identification they happened to be wearing.

“That’s awful. Must be some kind of wild boar or something.”

Ryou can’t help but laugh. If the demons are attacking this prevalently, it’s even more pertinent that he fill Akira in on at least a piece of his world, if only just for his own protection.

“No. This,” Ryou starts to explain, shaking his head and pointing at the TV, “is definitely no wild boar.”

He turns it off, then sets the remote aside and faces Akira, his face stern.

“I’ll take you out tomorrow to see some things. Then maybe you’ll understand,” he continues.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Akira blinks back at Ryou, concerned and intrigued.

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you came back from China. I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. There are more important things to worry about right now.”

“Screw more important things. You’re my best friend,” Akira insists, his gaze locked on Ryou.

There’s a hollow feeling in Ryou’s chest as he holds his breath and looks away from Akira, his face predictably implacable.

“You’ll understand when I show you tomorrow,” he responds calmly, then takes one of the mugs of tea from the coffee table and begins to sip at it.

Akira’s hands grasp at the couch cushions awkwardly and he twists the material between his fingers, his statement clearly not having been received the way he wanted it to be.

“Ryou-chan...I —” Akira starts, but he’s interrupted by a key jiggling in the door before it opens to reveal Miki and Miko, giggling about something as they take off their shoes and step inside.

As if bitten by something, Akira stands up immediately, his face hot and his entire body stiff.

“I’m gonna, um. Go shower and change.”

“Akira-kun! Don’t tell me you sat on the couch without showering  _ again _ ! Boys are so gross sometimes…” Miki complains as she walks through the kitchen, appealing to Miko, who nods her head. “Well, good thing we have two showers.”

“I guess we’ll just have to share, then,” Miko jokes quietly and Miki’s cheeks blaze red before she can even muster a laugh.

“Ha...you’d have to take me to dinner first,  _ Micchan _ ,” she quips back, and then they’re too far away from Ryou to hear them anymore, their voices only high-pitched mumbles drifting down the stairs.

Ryou doesn’t really care too much about their conversation, anyway. He’s too busy studying Akira’s strange body language and trying to figure out what’s wrong. Before he can think too much about it, though, Akira disappears upstairs as well, and Ryou is left to stare at the “Sony” logo bouncing around the blank screen of the TV.

The wind has picked up outside and he can hear it whistling through the trees angrily. If a storm comes in tonight, it’ll be difficult to see the eclipse, but the news is reporting nothing but sunny weather for the next week or two.

Miki and Miko are the first ones back downstairs, their hair wet, but brushed out or pulled back. They’re both wearing pajamas and Miki’s shorts leave almost nothing to the imagination, whereas Miko’s sporting just a normal pair of white sweatpants and a T-shirt.

Usually Akira’s showers are much shorter than this. Ryou wonders if he hurt his feelings somehow. For being so omnipotent, he’s still relatively clueless about the nuances of Akira’s emotions in particular.

“So, are we gonna play a game? Watch a movie? We still have about five hours until the eclipse,” Miki asks both Ryou and Miko, although Ryou mostly ignores her and gets out his phone to scroll through Twitter, as he always does.

“Hmmm...we should play a game. What about ‘Never have I ever’?” Miko suggests, sitting down on the loveseat near the couch and putting a finger to her chin thoughtfully.

“What’s that?”

“I played it with a transfer student a long time ago. Basically, you hold both hands up and take turns saying something you’ve never done. Then, if anyone else has done it, they put a finger down. The last one with any fingers up wins.”

“Oh, that sounds fun! Maybe we should wait for Akira to come down, though. Ryou-kun, will you play?”

Ryou looks up from his phone for a second, his lips curling into a nasty smirk.

“I’d lose far too quickly. I’ll just watch,” he deadpans.

For a moment, Miki and Miko look caught off guard by this response, but Miki just smiles and goes back to talking about their upcoming track meet. Soon, Akira is coming downstairs in a pair of loose shorts that fall to his knees, his hair slick and sticking up at all angles, as if he ran his towel over it to dry it and didn’t bother to comb it out afterward, but Ryou finds it utterly charming.

“Akira-kun! We were gonna play a game. You wanna play?” Miki asks as he sits next to Ryou and runs a hand through his hair in an attempt to tame it, but it doesn’t help at all.

“Sure. What game?” he responds.

“It’s called, ‘Never have I ever’.”

“How do you play that?” Miko explains the rules and Akira shrugs his shoulders amicably. “Sure, I’ll play.”

“Okay, I’ll start,” Miko suggests, holding up two hands. Ryou actually puts down his phone to watch.

“You’re not playing, Ryou?” Akira asks and Ryou gives him a warm smile, so unlike the cold expressions he sports with everyone else.

“I’d rather watch.”

“Okay, okay. Never have I ever smoked a cigarette,” Miko says, looking around, but nobody puts a finger down. “Oh, wow. Okay. Miki-chan, your turn.”

“Hmmm...never have I ever...had an energy drink,” Miki declares.

Both Akira and Miko put their fingers down.

“Ah, okay...never have I ever, um. Failed a test,” Akira says.

Miki and Miko both put a finger down.

“What? Really? Not even one?” Miko asks and Miki just smiles, because it doesn’t surprise her at all. Akira shakes his head. “Hm, okay. Well, never have I ever...gotten drunk.”

A blush creeping across his cheeks, Akira puts a finger down. Ryou is smirking behind him.

“What? Akira!” Miki calls out and Akira just shrugs, which makes her laugh. “So, you’ve gotten drunk, but you’ve never failed a test...well. Never have I ever kissed a boy. On the lips.”

Miki and Miko are looking at Akira, but nobody puts a finger down.

“What? Why are you looking at me?” he asks, but they just avert their gazes.

“It’s your turn, Akira-kun,” Miko reminds him and he furrows his eyebrows in confusion, but tries to think of something.

“Never have I ever kissed a girl.” 

With red cheeks, Miki and Miko look at the ground and both put a finger down. Akira makes a startled, choking noise and leans forward, sitting at the very edge of the couch. “What??? You two — when? Who?”

They both just shrug and Miko starts twirling a strand of her hair between two fingers before remembering she has to keep her hands up to play the game.

“Um, anyway. Never have I ever watched porn,” Miko mutters, embarrassed.

Akira is the only one to put a finger down.

“Girls don’t watch porn, too?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it,” Miko explains.

“I’ve heard that it’s really demeaning...for the women in it, I mean,” Miki says with a frown.

“Yeah, I guess it kind of is…”

“You really should use private browsing, Akira-kun.”

Miki winks at Akira and giggles.

“What? I do!”

“Not all the time…”

With a huff, Akira sinks back into the couch again. He still has seven fingers up. There’s a moment of silence while Miki thinks of something to say.

“Never have I ever tried a whitebait bowl,” Miki says, to steer the topic of conversation a little.

Akira puts a finger down, but Miko doesn’t.

“Never have I ever been to Shibuya.”

Miko and Miki put a finger down, looking at Akira in surprise.

“Really? It’s not even that far. We should all go sometime,” Miki suggests and Miko nods excitedly.

“There’s that Hachiko statue!”

“A lot of people have picnics around there.”

“There’s a sandwich shop nearby. They make really good shortcake, too. We could totally have a picnic by Hachiko!”

“That sounds fun,” Akira chimes in, elbowing Ryou gently. “You wanna come have a picnic next to Hachiko-san?”

“No thanks,” Ryou responds dully, the glare of his phone making his eyes so bright, they’re almost silver.

“Well, anyway. Never have I ever had tiramisu,” Miki says and Miko and Akira put a finger down.

They both only have one hand left now.

“This game is taking a lot longer than I thought,” Miko comments, sitting back in her chair.

“I don’t know what you expected,” Akira retorts, putting his now-free hand in his lap.

The rest of the game goes by rather slowly. Afterall, they are just kids, and pretty reserved ones at that. Miki ends up winning and Miko loses. Akira is the second to lose, only one question after Miko. By the time they’re finished, it’s already almost nine.

“Well, that was a good way to pass the time!” Miki smiles and stands up to walk into the kitchen. “I’m hungry. Does anyone want tea? I made pickled plum onigiri last night, too. If anyone wants any.”

“I’ll have tea,” Ryou calls to her — the first thing he’s said in over an hour.

“Onigiri for me,” Miko says.

“I’ll have both,” Akira adds. “Thanks, Miki!”

A moment later, she sets a dish of onigiri and a pot of tea with three small cups on the table.

“You sure you don’t want any tea, Micchan?” Miki checks as she sits down.

The rest of them follow suit, taking chairs around the table.

“Maybe later,” Miko answers with a smile.

Miki closes her eyes as she extends one of her hands to Akira and the other to Miko, who are both sitting next to her. Akira takes Ryou’s hand, but Miko can’t reach across the table that far.

“Thank you, Lord, for blessing us with this delicious food, and this beautiful roof over our heads. And thank you for the gorgeous weather and good friends. Amen.”

Nobody else says, “Amen” in response, but Miki doesn’t seem to mind. She opens her eyes, smiling, and takes her hand out of Akira’s and Miko’s.

“Let’s eat!” Miko exclaims enthusiastically and everyone digs into the onigiri, with the exception of Ryou, who simply sips at his cup of tea and scrolls on his phone.

“The Ancient Incan people thought that an eclipse looked like a jaguar eating the moon. The red color made it look like the moon was bleeding out, hence why some people still call it a ‘blood moon’. They thought it was an event of evil, as if once the jaguar was finished eating the moon, it’d come for their people next. Sometimes they yelled and beat their dogs until they howled loudly enough to drive off this jaguar they thought might come after them,” Ryou explains, matter-of-factly.

Miko and Miki look at each other strangely, but Akira keeps eating, unaffected.

“But, the Native American Hupa and Luiseno tribes thought that the eclipse was a sign that the moon itself was in danger and after it ended, they endeavored to heal it with songs, dances, or chants.”

Akira finishes his piece of onigiri and wipes his mouth with a napkin, taking a sip of his tea to wash it down.

“What do you think it is, Ryou?” he asks, turning his head to the side as he awaits a response.

“I don’t think anything. I told you, the only reason an eclipse happens is because the Earth gets in the way of the sun and the moon. The moon is a thing. You can’t attribute human emotions to it.”

Quietly, Miki and Miko chew away on their onigiri, not knowing what to say. It’s only after a long period of silence that anyone speaks again.

“Since my parents aren’t home, let’s get some blankets and sit on the roof. I’ll make some more tea, too,” Miki says, standing up and pushing her chair in. She starts to collect everyone’s plates to take to the sink, but Akira stands up and starts helping her.

“You made food for everyone, so I’ll wash the dishes,” he offers and she nods gratefully, instead turning to make more tea.

“Miko-chan, the blankets are in the guest room if you want to grab some. We can use the comforter on my bed, too.”

Miko gets up to grab blankets, leaving everyone to do his or her own separate task besides Ryou, who might as well be a decorative lamp, his phone forever lighting up his face under his pale yellow hair.

It takes about half an hour for all the dishes to be done, the tea to be made, and some more snacks to be prepared. Miko has come down with more blankets than she really should be able to carry, which are laid out on the couch.

“All right, let’s go,” Miki says eventually and Akira grabs a big, fluffy turquoise comforter from the couch. Miki grabs the beige microfiber one and Miko a thinner yellow quilt.

“C’mon, Ryou,” Akira urges, the comforter tucked under his arm.

Ryou slides his phone back into his pocket and shrugs his huge, white jacket on. At some point, he had discarded it on the back of a chair.

The roof is relatively easy to get to. There’s a ladder from the patio by Miki’s room that leads right up to it. Two plush lounge chairs stand at the far end on either side of a tiny plastic table, onto which Miki sets the teapot and some cups that she’d wedged under her arm.

“How’d you bring that all the way up here without spilling it everywhere?” Akira asks and Miki shrugs.

“Miko-chan carried both blankets.”

“Still,” Akira insists and Miko lays the two blankets on one of the lounge chairs, then sits down.

“Only two chairs, so we’ll have to share,” she says and Miki sits down next to her, wrapping one of the blankets around both of their shoulders.

“Um, there’s not much room, but…” Akira trails off after he’s dusted off the chair. He just looks down at the narrow piece of furniture, then up at Ryou, his cheeks warm.

“Go ahead. We can fit,” Ryou reasons, gesturing to the chair.

Akira then sits, gathering up one of the blankets and tossing it over himself, leaving as much room as he can for Ryou to sit next to him. It’s a definite squeeze, even as skinny as both he and Akira are, but Ryou manages to get comfortable, one of his arms draped over Akira’s shoulders. Yet again taking out his phone, he sees it’s already ten...but, they still have two hours until the eclipse, although the moon is already partially covered.

Miki and Miko are lying down facing each other on their chair, voices low, giggling about something inaudible. There’s a blanket being pulled up over Ryou, he realizes, even though he’s still wearing his bulky coat.

“You look flushed. Maybe you’re overheated,” Ryou observes, turning to look at Akira’s bright red cheeks curiously. “I’m not cold, so I don’t need a blanket.”

“I’m cold.”

This statement seems to contradict the heat radiating from Akira’s face, but he doesn’t linger on it, instead helping him pull the blanket up. They sit like that for a while, Ryou scrolling through Twitter and Akira looking out at the tops of the other roofs in the neighborhood. The house across the way has a long, thin planter box full of plants that are growing haphazardly, spilling out in every direction as if it hasn’t been attended to in a while. He can’t see anyone else watching the eclipse until he looks down at the street, where people are standing outside their doors or sitting on curbs, waiting.

After a moment, Ryou feels a weight on his shoulder and his heart leaps into his throat as he looks down to see that Akira has let his head fall onto him.

“Oh, no! I forgot the special glasses!” Miki exclaims, jumping up from her seat.

“We still have fifteen minutes,” Miko calls to her and she nods.

“I’ll be right back!”

Zooming back down the ladder and coming back without even a minute passing, Miki hands everyone a pair of glasses excitedly. Ryou and Akira take theirs, but Ryou frowns distastefully at his.

“You do know these glasses are only necessary for  _ solar _ eclipses, right?” he mentions.

“Wait, really? Mom said you’re not supposed to look at it without the glasses,” Miki responds, her head tilted to the side curiously.

“Yeah, because you’re not supposed to look directly at the  _ sun _ . But, the sun’s not out right now, is it?”

“Oh, gosh...you’re right. Well, it wouldn’t hurt, I guess.”

Ryou keeps his glasses in his lap with no intention of putting them on and Akira does the same. They all sit up and watch as the moon, which is bathed in an eerie orange glow, is slowly consumed by the darkness of the rest of the sky. Under the blankets, Akira finds Ryou’s hand and slides their fingers together, looking up.

“Wow,” he breathes, as if this is the first eclipse he’s ever seen. And Ryou has to remember that it is, that this Akira is only one of many, brought back to remind Ryou that no matter how much success he may have in nearly every other endeavor, he will always fail in the one that matters most.

Akira’s arm is warm against his own and after a moment, he realizes he’s not even watching the sky, but looking at the cascade of red light that washes over Akira’s face, lighting up his nose and messy hair as if engulfing them in flames. Maybe the Incan people weren’t too far off the mark — maybe Ryou is the jaguar who devours the moon, who only knows how to be feared, and not how to be loved.

At some point, Akira must feel his gaze on him because he turns his face, too. Even with his hair sticking up in the back from being mussed against the chair, he looks as breathtaking as ever. The moon is now covered, aside from a tiny sliver of brightness around the edge that makes it look like a thin ring. Miki and Miko start cheering and clapping loudly, but the obnoxious sound is quickly pushed to the back of his mind as if they’re sitting on the roof of a house a block away, drowned out by the dull thump of Ryou’s heartbeat resonating in his ears as Akira’s face steadily grows closer to his, something soft and warm eventually pressing against his lips, for only a brief second.

Ryou is frozen in place, his entire body stiff; Akira just smiles at him sweetly, then settles his head back onto his shoulder, their hands still clasped tightly under the blankets.

“I think I like the Native Americans’ explanation the most,” he says, after a minute.

“What?” Ryou asks, searching for clarification.

“You know, how you said they thought the moon was in trouble and they needed to save it, or something.”

The sky has gone completely dark now and Miki and Miko are back to discussing something quietly.

“The moon is made of regolith. It’s just a mass of rock. There’s nothing to be saved.”

“I know. I’m just saying...I like that idea more than the other one.”

As the wind picks up again, like a dog howling from far away, Ryou feels empty and cold, like he’s sitting in the bottom of a tub after all the water has been drained.


End file.
